Penance
by Laora
Summary: The Gate was opening; the black arms stretched toward him and Pride. Ed knew he had no say in the matter. He would be pulled to this parallel dimension, alternate universe—whatever it was—and Amestris would be left to die. Truth merely grinned.
1. Protectors of the Earth

_Thank you so much for taking the time to check this out, you beautifully amazing person~ :)_

_Setting...FMA's **mangaverse**, with spoilers through chapter 105 (Brotherhood episode 61). In HP-land, there are spoilers through OotP~_

_Edited as of 7/15/12, and while there are a couple things that could do with improving, I'm happy with the way everything has turned out :3 Thank you so much to all you wonderful readers! This story would never be as awesome if you hadn't made it that way :D_

___Beautiful story cover by NinthFeather, who is pretty much the most perfect human being in existence~_

* * *

**I  
****Protectors of the Earth**

Roy couldn't remember ever being so terrified.

He had only a vague idea of what was going on. After losing his sight to the Gate, he had been terribly disoriented and confused. All he really knew was that the Homunculus had brought them all together to make a Philosopher's Stone of the country—_and he had succeeded._

What happened next made little sense to him. The man named Hohenheim had somehow reversed the creation of the Stone. He, Edward, and Alphonse were fighting Pride and his Father, judging by the great amount of noise in the room. A small girl also seemed to be there, along with a woman who identified herself as Izumi Curtis; she had taken it upon herself to keep him out of harm's way. Roy didn't want to admit it—even to himself—but without her protection, he would have been dead a long time ago.

Curtis soon left, running to assist the Elrics in the fight. A voice he did not recognize—he called himself Greed—also sped off, leaving Roy under the sole care of the young (Xingese?) girl. She said nothing to him as she—from what he could gather—added defensive barriers around the two of them.

Roy _hated_ being useless.

Suddenly, the room heated up several degrees, and the girl from Xing yelped in surprise. The sounds of battle stopped abruptly, and Roy wondered frantically who had been hit by the fire—lava—sun—whatever the enormous heat source was.

"ENOUGH!" the Homunculus roared, and in the blink of an eye, Roy was grabbed by something—it felt like stone—and pulled through the air. He heard three yells from various other directions, but why was there not one more?

He was slammed, _hard_, into the ground, and let out an involuntary grunt. Ed let out a horribly desperate cry.

"Edward Elric, this has gone on long enough. You sacrifices have ceased to be useful to me." The Homunculus sounded suddenly irritated…_definitely not good_. "Either you activate that array in front of you, or I kill everyone here, one by one."

Edward's gasp sounded panicked, and Roy wished—not for the first time in the last hour—that he could see, that he could know what the circle was. Listening to the worried cries from the others, Roy knew it meant trouble.

"Brother, you'll die if you do that!" Al sounded beyond hysterical; his armor clanked loudly as he tried to break free.

"But _you'll_ die if I don't!" Ed sounded as if he either wanted to cry or punch something…it was always hard to tell with him.

"Ed, don't! We'll be fine!" Izumi Curtis yelled, sounding angry and scared. "Don't you dare—"

"I'm running out of patience, boy." The Homunculus did indeed seem to be getting angrier by the second. And Mustang knew, without a doubt, what decision the boy would inevitably reach…even if he disliked his superior officer and seemed to outright _hate_ his own father, he wouldn't just let them die. Nevertheless—"Fullmetal, don't even _think_ about it!" he yelled, sounding as intimidating as he could.

"Edward…" Hohenheim said simply, pleading with his son.

Nothing happened for a moment; there was no crackling of a transmutation, no yelling from any of his fellow captives. Roy wondered what would happen to the rest of them once Edward sacrificed himself.

_Metal smashes, and all Hell breaks loose._

"_ALPHONSE_!" Edward's strangled scream told Roy what he had already deduced, what he hadn't wanted to believe. The Homunculus had evidently decided that Ed had waited for too long. And Alphonse's blood seal—

The Homunculus laughed mercilessly, and a chillingly childlike voice—_Pride, Selim Bradley—_said, "Well, Edward Elric? What will you do now?"

Ed was breathing heavily now, sucking in air as it if would reseal his brother's soul. Suddenly, there was a clap, and Roy heard mismatched hands meet the stone floor.

"Fullmetal—!"

He had a pretty good guess as to what the circle was now; nothing but human transmutation could elicit that reaction from the others. Roy realized with terror that Ed would almost certainly not make it out alive if he went to the Gate without any equivalence. _He's already lost so much…there's nearly nothing left for it to take. _He struggled uselessly against his bonds, trying desperately to help the boy, when a sound from next to him—where Pride stood—made him turn his head.

"Why don't you join him, Pride?" Greed—the apparently rogue Homunculus—sounded almost gleeful as Pride's furious, surprised yells traveled farther and farther away from Roy. They stopped suddenly, and Greed laughed. "_Go to hell!_"

Roy strained his ears, trying to catch any sort of clue about the situation. Suddenly, the room fell silent; the reaction was finished. "What happened?" he asked frantically, turning to where he knew Izumi and Hohenheim were trapped.

There was silence for a moment, then the older man choked out, "They're…they're gone."

* * *

Ed found himself standing in the vast whiteness. He didn't even give himself a chance to get used to the unsettling atmosphere; _he had no time;_ he had to make sure he wasn't too late to save his brother.

"AL!" Nothing answered him, not even an echo. He looked around in the whiteness; he saw only his own Gate, as well as Pride lying unconscious on what passed as the floor. (He wondered for a moment what he was doing there, _but there was absolutely no time._) He tried yelling again; his efforts were met with laughter this time, and he spun quickly to see the source.

Truth, in all its glory, waved at him from in front of the Gate. "Here again, Edward Elric?" Its face split into a wide grin. "I thought you might have learned the first three times you came through here…"

"Where's Al?" Ed had no time for Truth's banter. If he had arrived quickly enough, maybe his brother hadn't been pulled into the Gate. Maybe if he were there, in the whiteness, he could still save him. Maybe—

"That isn't important," Truth's many voices said—there were so many, but they were all the same. _All is one, one is all. _Ed found it difficult to laugh at the irony. "How do you plan to take him out of here? Will you offer yourself?"

"Yes," Ed said immediately, barely able to think. " That's equivalent, right? Take me and send Al back to Amestris—"

"Ah, but you're not a whole person, now are you?" Truth's grin grew wider, and it waved its—_his_—right hand toward him. Ed realized with terror that he was right. _How could I have been so stupid?_ Of course he wasn't worth as much as Al! He couldn't even _begin_ to compare—"That's not the answer I'm looking for. And unless you come up with that, I've got my own solution…"

But Ed had just remembered. Pride was there—Greed had pushed him into the circle—he was in front of Ed's own Gate, which meant—_No! _They had sworn to never use a Philosopher's Stone, to never use human souls to correct their own error. It was their own fault they were like this, damnit, and Ed refused to drag other innocents into the equation. He appreciated Greed's thought—at least he knew the bastard cared (_or he just figured he'd get rid of Pride along with me)_—but it was just not plausible. There had to be another way to save Al; there _had _to be! He couldn't just leave him at Truth's mercy. Surely there was a way to beat him, to get his brother back_—_

Truth laughed at the alchemist's obvious distress. "Think quickly, Mr Al-che-mist," it sung. "There's an answer to this…but can you figure it out?"

"Bastard!" Ed couldn't take any more of the "deity's" jokes. It _knew_ why he was there; it _knew_ that he'd rather die than go back without his brother! Why did it think he'd ever agree to anything else it suggested?

The grin slipped off Truth's face at last, and it seemed to heave a sigh. "Too bad…I thought you, of all people, would be able to figure it out. But since I like you two…why don't we make a different kind of deal?"

"What're you talking about?" Truth was not one to cut deals, unless they directly benefitted it. _What's the catch?_

"If you were anyone else, you'd both be dead," it continued as if he had not spoken. "Trying human transmutation and refusing to use the little equivalency you brought along—"

"What's the deal, then?" Ed asked, getting to the point. He wasn't going to waste time chatting with an omnipotent being when he had a brother to resurrect and a country to save.

"Impatient, are we?" Truth laughed. "I'll send you and your brother to a different world. That'll balance the exchange for now. But if you ever want to get back to Amestris in one piece, you'll have to find enough equivalence and bring it here. For your bodies, _and_ the passage fee."

Truth seemed positively cheerful now, which put Ed even more on edge. "And I won't even charge you a fee to get there! To be quite honest, this is the best thing I've ever offered anyone, Mr. Alchemist," it finished, crossing mismatched arms and grinning over at Ed. "So we have a deal?"

"What? Hang on—"His head was spinning—_different world?_ Al would be there? What was it—

But the Gate was already opening; the black arms stretched toward him and Pride. He knew that he had no say in the matter. They would be pulled into this parallel dimension, alternate universe—whatever it was—and there was nothing he could do to stop it. And—"What about Amestris?" Surely, the Promised Day was still continuing –they couldn't just leave in the middle of the fight—_if they lose, he'll never forgive himself—_

Truth only grinned.


	2. After the Fall

**II**  
**After the Fall**

It was a quiet evening in late July at 12 Grimmauld Place. Remus and Sirius talked quietly at the dinner table, eating supper, while the Weasleys and Hermione got settled in upstairs. Seven new additions to the house would be quite a shock to the established system, Sirius was sure, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. Though there was the occasional crash or yell from one of the upper levels, the house was silent as a whole. Sirius—rather uncharacteristically—basked in the peace and quiet after the chaos of the past few weeks. Between contacting old Order members, finding new ones, and making the house semi-inhabitable, he barely had time to breathe.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

A _crack_ from above their heads interrupted their conversation abruptly. Sirius looked up, assuming one of the twins had Apparated himself onto the spindly chandelier, but instead, he was faced with a huge, intricate circle glowing on the ceiling. The two men immediately jumped up and pulled out their wands; Dumbledore had put the wards on the house already, so nobody should have been able to do anything like this. Sirius had never seen magic like it before, though… _What the bloody hell is going on?_

There was a blinding flash—Sirius had to shield his eyes—and two distinct _thumps _as _something_ landed on the table. (He thought he heard a scream from outside as well, but as long as the wards held, they needed to focus on this first.)

Once his vision had returned to normal, he was shocked to see two figures lying on top of the table. One had long blond hair pulled back in a braid and was wearing a red coat. The other had equally long hair, but was far too thin to be healthy and was wearing nothing.

The two stared in horror for a moment before Remus' philanthropic instincts kicked in. He scooped up the thin person; Sirius could see that it was a boy, no older than Ginny, and wondered how he could have possibly gotten into such a state. "You take care of that one, he's bleeding," Remus said quickly, nodding toward the other boy. Sirius got a good look at the figure in the coat and saw that there were indeed deep gashes across his face.

"What was—_good God_!" Molly Weasley stood, shocked, in the doorway, her eyes locked on the boy in Remus' arms.

"Get some clothes from Ron," Remus took charge of the situation quickly, already heading for the stairs. "I'm going to lay him down in the room across from mine. If either of them wakes up, we can talk to them and figure out what's going on."

Sirius was a bit apprehensive. _How in Hell did they get past the wards? The Fidelius Charm? They can't just—_ "Moony, what if they're—"

"They're _children_!" Molly interrupted harshly. "They need our help! I know a few healing spells—maybe we can get this one looking more healthy. It looks like he hasn't eaten properly in _years…_" She and Remus quickly retreated up the stairs. Sirius could see several pairs of eyes watching curiously from the landing, but they were quickly banished to their rooms by Mrs. Weasley. He knew they'd demand answers later—ones they probably wouldn't receive—but now was not the time.

Something shifted behind him, and Sirius spun around to see the other boy sitting up, holding his head. He stared at the arm of his coat for a moment in confusion before glancing around the room. Then his eyes locked with Sirius', and he immediately sprang to his feet; his face bore an impressive scowl.

Sirius opened his mouth to ask the boy what had just happened, how they got in and _what was going on,_ but the boy beat him to the punch. He said something in a decidedly rude tone, and it took Sirius a moment to realize he was speaking a different language. _Great. And Dumbledore's not here. Who the hell is this kid?_The boy seemed frustrated at Sirius' lack of response and repeated what he had said.

"I don't understand you," Sirius said slowly and clearly, hoping maybe he spoke a little English.

The boy's brow furrowed for a moment; then, he said something else, a different cadence to his speech. _Another language?_ Sirius did not recognize this one, either. At his uncomprehending stare, the boy sighed and tried yet another, distinctly Asian, tongue. Sirius could not reply. The blond rattled off a few more sentences in wildly different languages, looking at him expectantly between each. As he went on, his face grew steadily more and more baffled, like he couldn't believe Sirius spoke something he didn't know.

_Just how many languages does this kid speak?_ And how was it that none of them sounded at all familiar?

Sirius had to shake his head to each. The boy finally huffed, attempting to move away from the table. Sirius immediately jumped forward; it looked like he'd lost a lot of blood, and moving in that condition was a bad idea… But the boy only stared at him, one eyebrow raised, so Sirius touched his own cheek, then pointed to the boy, hoping he got the message. In response, he put his gloved hand to his head, and looked vaguely surprised to see that it came away bloody.

Then, the boy seemed to remember something. His expression changed, completely and immediately, and he began yelling in the first language he had tried, looking around the dining room frantically. Sirius had no idea what he was saying, but the poor kid seemed terribly desperate. He was trying to figure out how to calm him down when Remus ran back in, looking to Sirius for an explanation.

"He doesn't speak English," he said quickly. "He knows tons of other languages, though…do you recognize this one...?"

Remus hesitated, listening to the nearly hysterical yells. "German, maybe...?" He turned and waved to get the boy's attention; he stopped his yelling and glared murderously at the two of them. Sirius was impressed—he had never seen such a frightening face on anyone, not even Snivellus Snape.

Remus said something in careful German; the boy scowled and shook his head. Remus sighed and turned to Sirius again.

"It might be Dutch…I'm not sure. Anyway, I don't think we can do much until Dumbledore comes."

"We should call him right away," Sirius said quickly. "Especially about how they got here. This is a huge security breach, and—"

The boy made a loud noise in his throat, and they turned to him again. After seeing that he had their attention, he jabbed a thumb at his chest and said clearly, "Ed."

Sirius stared at him for a moment before realizing the boy was introducing himself. "Sirius," he said after a few seconds, and Remus did likewise. Ed nodded jerkily, and mimed writing, looking at them expectantly. His angry expression had relaxed considerably…but he was still impressively intimidating.

Remus nodded and sped out of the room, and Sirius and Ed shared an awkward minute or so alone in the kitchen. The boy sat down in a chair, and Sirius mirrored him with a heavy sigh. _Might as well, if we're playing Pictionary and charades._

Remus returned soon enough, and Ed took the quill and parchment rather quizzically. He drew a crude picture of himself, pointed again at his chest to make sure they understood, and then drew what looked like a towering suit of armor.

Sirius was totally baffled. What was the boy trying to say? That he wanted to wear a suit of armor…?

Ed rolled his eyes at their confused expressions. Pointed at himself, then at the floor. Then pointed at the armor, and again at the floor, wearing a clearly questioning expression.

"Asking if the armor showed up with him?" Remus mused. Sirius thought that was the best guess either of them could hazard, so he shook his head at Ed.

_This kid really is expressive_, Sirius thought as Ed's face fell faster than a stone. He stood up, pacing and muttering furiously; the frighteningly livid look was back on his face. Or was it terrible grief? Sirius found it hard to tell.

"Do you think he knows the other boy?" Remus asked in an undertone…as if Ed could have understood them anyway.

But Sirius could shrug. He briefly entertained the thought that the emaciated boy had been wearing the armor, but realized quickly how ridiculous that idea was. He looked like he could barely support himself; there was no way he could have worn such a bulky set of plate mail.

Remus snatched the parchment and quill from across the table and drew a quick sketch of the boy upstairs. "Ed!" he barked, and the boy's head snapped up. Remus gestured him over and gave him the parchment. Ed looked at the new addition, and, once again, his mood seemed to change instantly. He opened his mouth, eyes wide, but then he seemed to remember the situation. Instead, he gesticulated wildly, pointing at himself and then the picture of the boy. His obvious command: _Take me to him!_

They walked quickly up to the second floor, and Sirius saw several pairs of eyes and what looked like fleshy string hastily disappear. _A lot of good eavesdropping will do, when we're not talking,_ he thought, amused. He ignored the teenagers for the time being, though, and followed Remus and Ed to the room where the other boy was lying.

Mrs. Weasley was still there, waving her wand over him in an apparent attempt to make him healthy. Ed let out an inarticulate cry in the doorway, and she spun around, looking alarmed before she saw who it was.

"Don't worry, dear, I'm just trying to heal him. He's so malnourished—do you know—"

Ed did not seem to hear her at all. His eyes were locked on the boy in the bed—fully clothed now, but still out cold—with an expression of both shock and utter joy. With another yell he dashed at the bed, pushing Molly harshly out of the way, and tackled the boy in a bone-crushing hug.

The adults could only stare as Ed continued to talk to the boy in his own language—the expression of pure _elation_ had not dimmed from his features. "Does he speak English?" Molly asked the two men in an undertone.

Sirius shook his head. "We've been drawing to communicate. All we know is that his name's Ed, and a suit of armor means a lot to him. But apparently so does this kid…" he trailed off, watching the rapturous look on Ed's face. It was obvious, now, that the two boys were related. They had nearly the same—rather unusual—hair color, and their facial structures were similar, if the other boy's drawn cheeks were ignored.

"You don't know where they're from?" Molly asked, looking concerned as she turned toward the boys again. "They're so young to be on their own like this…"

"They fell out of the ceiling," Sirius said bluntly. "There was a circle, and blue light, and then they were on the table."

"That reminds me!" Remus pulled out his wand quickly, summoning his Patronus and designating it as a message to Dumbledore. "Please come as soon as possible. We have a breach in security, but the intruders seem harmless…for now," he added, which earned him a scoff and a rebuke from Molly. The wolf sped off into thin air.

There was another sound from the direction of Ed and his unconscious brother. The boy was staring at the place the Patronus had been with open-mouthed shock, apparently trying to figure out what had happened. Remus put his empty hands up in a sign of peace; Ed stared at him for a moment, obviously skeptical and wary, before turning his attention back to his brother.

"I really should keep working on him," Molly said, her voice drawn out in concern. "I can't imagine that he's stable, and he'll definitely need food along with some nutrient and anti-atrophy spells…"

"I dunno if Ed will let you," Sirius laughed. "He seems pretty protective of him!" Truthfully, Sirius had never seen the look Ed was bestowing on the boy, except maybe right after Harry was born. Lily and James had barely taken their eyes off the pink, wrinkled, bawling baby…and Ed's gaze now was very similar. But the two boys were so close in age, so if they meant so much to each other, why was Ed treating him like something so precious and new?

Despite Sirius' warning, Molly walked toward the bed again, raising her wand. Ed caught the movement and shifted immediately to stand between her and his brother, the all-encompassing anger returning. With the not-quite-dried blood caking his face, he was a frightening sight indeed. _Don't touch him!_ The boy's fury was practically rolling off him, but Molly had not raised seven children for nothing.

She pointed at the boy, then mimed eating. Ed shook his head vehemently, raising his hands in a defensive stance. _Does he want to fight us?_ Sirius thought incredulously, but then all action ceased when the boy in the bed let out a low moan. Ed spun around so fast his braid slapped him in the face, but he paid it no heed as he swooped down on the boy. He said something quickly in his language, his voice clearly hopeful; the boy answered—his voice was high, thin, uncertain—and Ed laughed and encased him again in a hug.

The thin boy was facing the adults now, and his eyes—similar to his brother's, though a shade or two darker—widened when he saw them. But then something else seemed to capture his attention, and he pulled away from the hug, raising a bony hand to rest in front of his eyes. He seemed utterly shocked by this for some reason, and said something shakily to Ed. He nodded, looking positively joyous, and the boy's face split into a deliriously happy grin.

There was a _crack_ from downstairs, and Sirius knew that unless more strange people were falling from the ceiling, Dumbledore had arrived. With one last look at the boys, now talking quickly to each other with happier expressions than Sirius had ever seen, he left the room to get the Headmaster.

"Good evening, Sirius," Dumbledore said mildly from his place by the kitchen table. A few spots of blood, two plates of ruined chicken, and the drawings from earlier remained. "Would these have anything to do with our intruders?"

"Yeah, the two of them fell out of the ceiling," Sirius said quickly. "And they don't speak English, or German, so we were hoping you knew their language so we could figure out _what the hell is going __on__!"_

"Who are they, exactly?" he asked, looking interested and perhaps a little concerned as he picked up the crude drawings. Whether it was because of the blood or for the security of their headquarters, Sirius couldn't tell.

"Two kids—brothers, I think. They're upstairs…"

Dumbledore nodded, so Sirius led the way back up to the bedroom, once again ignoring the teenagers as they scurried away. He'd have to talk with them later…about how to be more sneaky.

Dumbledore paused in the doorway, listening to the boys' animated conversation with a curious expression on his face. "Have you heard it before?" Remus asked hopefully, turning to talk to them.

"I have not heard this language in several decades," he said finally, looking distinctly surprised. "Though I may be a little rusty, I'm sure I can still communicate, as long as they don't talk quite as quickly…" he stepped into the room fully and walked up to the boys. They stopped their conversation immediately; Ed moved in front of his brother again, protective and wary.

Dumbledore said something slowly, and Ed's face betrayed a hint of surprise before it reverted back to its scowl. He gestured dismissively at the three other adults in the room and said something in reply. The old man sighed and turned to them.

"He wants you to leave. I'm not sure why, as you can't understand Xerxesian, but…"

Sirius nodded, and with one last look at the boys, he left the room with Remus and Molly. "Have you ever heard of that language?" Remus asked speculatively, glancing back as they walked downstairs.

"Xerxesian?" Sirius tried the word on his tongue, but it was totally foreign to him. "Nope. What _I_ want to know is how they got in here in the first place!"

"I'm sure Dumbledore will find out," Molly said confidently. "They're probably just scared, showing up where hardly anyone knows their language…and in their states—"

She stopped abruptly when they arrived in the kitchen. Five teenagers were sitting at the table, eating dinner and looking far too innocent. Sirius sighed resignedly as Molly became suddenly irate, running into the large room.

"I told you to stay in your rooms!"

"We were hungry, Mum," Ron said defensively. "It's almost eight! And anyway, what the bloody hell happened just now? Who were those two kids—"

"Watch your language," she warned. "And it's none of your business. Dumbledore is taking care of it, all right?"

"But they looked _terrible_!" Hermione said, looking very worried. "What if they—"

Remus waved a hand. "Like she said, we've got it under control. They'll be fine. They're up and talking to Dumbledore right now."

"Can we talk to them too?" Fred—George?—said excitedly, nearly standing up with his twin. "What are they like? Maybe—"

"Not unless you know a language called 'Xerxesian,'" Sirius cut in. At their baffled faces, Sirius knew they were no more knowledgeable than he was. _Not even Hermione? Wow… _"Even Dumbledore only knows enough of it to get by. We'll just have to wait and see what he says about them."

"Don't go poking around," Remus warned suddenly, looking hard at all of the teenagers. "They could be dangerous. At least one of them has a nasty temper. We have no idea what either of them is capable of."

All of them nodded dutifully, but Sirius could clearly see the ghost of an excited smirk forming on their faces. He knew very little about any of them, except maybe Ron and Hermione, but he knew enough to realize that they would never back down so easily. Much like himself, in fact…

He just hoped Ed wouldn't scalp them later that night when they barged into his brother's room.


	3. Perchance to Dream

**III**  
**Perchance to Dream**

Edward couldn't remember the details of his encounter with the Gate, but he knew wherever _here_ was wasn't anywhere in the modern world.

The two men who he had met initially (Sirius and Remus? Ed added that to his mental list: these people had weird-ass names) had not even seemed to consider him a threat. He supposed they could have patted him down while he was unconscious…but while he was awake, they didn't look at all hostile—only just as confused as he himself felt.

The only things they could establish between the three of them were their names, the fact that Al had _not_ arrived as Truth had promised…

_What the hell was he supposed to do now?_ He was starting to remember bits and pieces as he woke up fully… _Alternate universe—_and Al should have been there with him. He was on the verge of panicking, ready to send himself back to the Gate and demand answers… But then Remus had called him over…and even if it was sketchy and lopsided, Ed would recognize his little brother's body anywhere.

But why would the Gate—they hadn't given up anything—unless their passage there was equivalent enough…but he could barely understand what was going on. Somehow, Al was _here_, Al _wasn't dead_, Al could _eat_ and _smell_ and _sleep_ and _breathe_ and _feel_ again. Where was he and why was the Gate giving them so much?

Luckily for Remus and Sirius, they had figured out what he wanted quickly and led him upstairs. He vaguely recalled seeing a red-haired woman, but...all that mattered was that his brother was back. He would figure out the details later.

The three adults had left them to themselves, instead talking quietly in the corner. Ed barely noticed when Sirius left, but when he returned with an impossibly old man, Ed forced himself to pay attention. He had no reason to mistrust these people—really, they hadn't done anything but help—but four years of military service were hard to shake, and he would take no chances when Al was weak and helpless behind him.

"You…speak Xerxesian?" the old man asked, unexpectedly speaking a language they could actually understand. His speech was painfully slow and horribly accented, but Ed was only glad that someone could finally communicate. _Why don't we speak any of the same languages?_ None of this was making sense…

"Amestrian, technically, but they're pretty much the same. If you send them out, maybe we can figure out _what the hell is going on._" He waved his hand at the other three adults to emphasize his point.

The old man seemed rather confused by the second part of his sentence, and Ed realized he should probably enunciate better and speak slowly. Obviously, the man did not have a good grasp on the language. Soon enough, though, Sirius, Remus, and the red-haired woman were gone.

"How do you speak this?" the old man asked, walking forward slowly. Ed eyed him warily. Sure, Sirius and Remus seemed to trust him, but how could he know for sure?

"How do they _not_?" he shot back.

"I think we are the only three people in the world who speak it." The old man's speech was still slow and accented, but he spoke less haltingly than before. "I am sorry; I have not spoken this in nearly one hundred years."

Ed shared a confused glance with his brother before returning his attention to the old man. _A hundred years?_ Sure, the guy was old, but more than one hundred was pushing _any_ country's life expectancy… "Really? So what language do you all speak here?" _And why don't we know it?_

"English," he answered simply, and looked intently at the two of them as he pulled up a nearby chair.

"En…glish?" Al tried from behind Ed. It was a strange word, foreign in Ed's mind…he had never heard of it… But both of them had seen the Truth; the Gate had long since given them knowledge of all the world's languages. English was not one of them. _So when Truth said "alternate universe," he wasn't kidding…_

"I want to know how you two arrived here," the old man said, changing the subject abruptly. "No one can even _see_ this house. You should not be able to enter."

_What?_ What kind of science could make a house invisible? "We just…woke up here," Al said, breaking the silence first. "I don't remember anything after—" Ed made a loud noise in his throat, effectively cutting him off. Even if this guy was no threat, he didn't need to know anything about them before they found out _what the hell was_ _going on._

"I want to know where we are," he said in a threatening tone, disguising his worry as he always did, "who _you_ are, and why nobody here speaks a language we can understand!"

"We are in London," the old man said immediately. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I apologize for not telling you before." He inclined his head. "And nobody here speaks Xerxesian—'Amestrian,' if you'd like—because that language does not exist here."

Al made a sort of choking noise. Ed could only stare at the man—Dumbledore?—as his mind tried to process this. Alternate universes were quantum theory; he had only ever glanced at it in Central Library. But he had always thought it was different timelines of the same world…not something else entirely…

"How do you know this language?" Dumbledore pressed, leaning forward and causing Ed to shift protectively in front of Al. "I've only met one man, and he was from—"

"Parallel dimensions," Ed ground out, glancing back at Al. Surprise and panic flooded his face, but he said nothing, so Ed continued—"I've never even heard of London. I doubt you've heard of Amestris."

The man's blank stare was answer enough. "Right, well, we need to get back, so once Al is better, we'll be heading out. It'll take a couple months at most."

"Months?" the old man looked vaguely surprised. "We should have him up within a week or two. Molly knows many spells that—"

"Spells?" Ed choked out. "What, you all think you can do _magic_ here?"

Dumbledore looked at him oddly. "You do not know of magic?"

"It's part of the fairy tales we read when we were—oh—two or three," he said, raising an eyebrow. Sure, he can deal with delusional people—just as long as they won't hurt Al—but this is just _weird._ Who the hell thought they could wave a magic wand and get everything they ever wanted? Even _children_ knew it wasn't possible. _And we know it too well._ "It'd go against physics, and nature, and—"

"But that is the entire idea of magic, yes? That it does the impossible?" The old man reached into the pocket of the coat he was wearing, and Ed tensed, worried for the first time that this man might be a real threat. Did he have a gun? A knife?

_A stick?_ _What the hell…_ He didn't know if it was the absurdity of the thing Dumbledore was holding like a weapon, or the stress of waking up in a _parallel-fucking-dimension,_ or the panic the Promised Day induced that still hadn't wound down…but Ed just burst out laughing, nearly doubling over with the force of his guffaws. _None of this is making any sense…!_

"Brother!" Al said, shaking his shoulder weakly until he sat up. His tone was admonishing, but Ed could tell his younger brother felt just as confused as he did. "I'm sorry, Mr. Dumbledore, he doesn't have very good manners…"

"That's quite all right." The man stood up, smiling at them. "Though I doubt you will be leaving soon…Molly—the red-haired woman—will be up soon with food. Is there anything you would like specifically?"

Ed looked immediately to his little brother at the mention of food. _Hell, if they're feeding us…we might as well stay for as long as we can._ And dinner would definitely be Al's choice; after not eating for nearly five years, he had more than a right to decide what his first meal would be. Al stared back at Ed, his brow furrowed slightly in thought. "I wanted to try Winry's apple pie," he said regretfully, "and Mrs Hughes' quiche…the list was all from people we know." His laugh was melancholy. "Brother, what do you want?"

"You pick," Ed said quickly, leaving no room for argument.

"Um…" Al looked uncertainly at Dumbledore. "What does…Miss Molly like to make? I don't want to inconvenience her…if she's too busy, we can wait…"

Ed snorted in spite of himself. Just like Al…worry about everyone else first, even when faced with the prospect of _eating_ for the first time in years.

"She _wants_ to feed you," Dumbledore said immediately, smiling kindly. "I am sure she has worried about you since you arrived. Molly will be more than happy to make you anything you want."

"Oh…well," Al began hesitantly, "maybe…quiche, then? Does that translate? Do you know it?"

"Yes," Dumbledore chuckled. "The man who taught me this language loved food, so I know most of those words."

"Oh good!" Al looked very relieved. "So…quiche, and apple pie maybe, if it's not too much trouble. And Brother likes stew."

"I'll eat whatever she makes Al," Ed amended. "Just tell her to make the most delicious things ever. And lots of them!"

"Brother, don't be rude," Al said disapprovingly. "And please tell her we're very sorry for the trouble." The old man inclined his head and turned to leave. "Wait!" Al said suddenly. "Can you tell us—how do you say 'thank you' in English? I want to thank Miss Molly when she comes in…"

Dumbledore looked, surprised, back at him. "It is _thank you_," he said slowly, looking at the two of them to see if they heard clearly.

"…Thank you?" Al tried, obviously confused but doing his best to remember. This sounded like a strange language, at least what Ed had heard of it so far…but if he could relate some of it to Aerugan, Cretan….it wouldn't be too hard to learn. And their pronunciation didn't have to be perfect, anyway…as long as they got the point across…

"Yes, that is about right," the old man confirmed. "If you will be staying for a while, we might want to teach you more…but not right now. I will come back later?" And he left, closing the door behind him.

"Mr. Dumbledore seems nice, at least," Al said after a moment. Ed shrugged indifferently, still confused about the entire situation. Parallel universes—fine. They'd just have to find their way back home. Strange old men and people who don't speak a language they know? Not so awesome. But _magic…_he can't even…

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked Al suddenly. His seal had broken; logically, his soul would have gone to the Gate. Maybe the Truth spoke to him as well? Maybe it had told him more of—of _this_ world… Hopefully, they could at least piece together a viable theory.

His little brother looked thrown by the random question, but recovered quickly. "I'm…not sure. I remember we were underground, and then the Homunculus restrained us and tried to make you—" he cut himself off, looking horrified. "That was a Human Transmutation circle! You didn't activate it, did you? Or else—"

"He smashed your blood seal," Ed said quietly. It was only a memory, and Al was sitting, alive, not two feet from him, but the thought still caused him great pain. "You probably wouldn't remember that…then he threatened Teacher next, and there was nothing I could do! I had to activate it!"

"But…Truth gave us our bodies…what's the catch?" Trepidation and worry were quickly growing across his face, overcoming the previous confusion. "_What'd he take?_ Are you all right? Your insides—"

"I'm fine," Ed said slowly, deep in thought. "Nothing hurts…I feel just like I did before." Then something else his brother said caught up with him, and he pushed up his right jacket sleeve experimentally: battered steel glinted back at him. Al's brow scrunched downward in concern and confusion. "He's still got my limbs…" Ed muttered, more to himself than to his brother. None of this made sense, and it was really starting to piss him off. _We get Al back, but not my limbs. We lose nothing else, but he leaves us stranded…_

He pulled down the sleeve viciously. "Okay, let's start again. Where did he say we are? Some place called 'London'?"

"Something like that," Al agreed. "It doesn't sound familiar at all…but if this is a parallel dimension, like you said—"

"That's what that Truth bastard told me, at least," he said, flopping back onto the headboard. He wanted to kick something, _badly,_ but nothing but the bed was in reach. "Not much to go on, huh? We've still got alchemy, but what kind of equivalence would we need to get—?" But he cut himself off, a terrible thought suddenly entering his mind. He and Al had left the battlefield, had been forced to abandon the Promised Day…but what about everyone else? Hohenheim, Teacher, all the soldiers—they were facing the Homunculus without Ed and Al's help? One look at Al's stricken face showed him that he had had the same thought.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Ed said immediately, trying to comfort his brother. His voice trembled terribly all the same. "Greed and Mei are there, remember? They'll get everyone free, and Hohenheim's more than a match for that idiot…"

Al looked slightly mollified by this, but his face was still clearly concerned. "But even if these people can do magic—" here, Ed snorted so badly he nearly choked, "—and heal me faster, it'll take _weeks_, and then we still need to figure out a way home!" His composure was fading fast; his eyes glistened dangerously. It had been on his long list of things to do, Ed knew, but he'd be damned if he just let Al cry without trying to console him. He was the big brother, damnit! That was his job!

"Teacher and Mustang and tons of other people are there to help if the bastard fails—which he won't," he said reassuringly, putting his hands on Al's shoulders. "They'll be fine, I promise!"

Al smiled weakly. "Thanks, Brother. You know I just worry too much…"

"Of course you do! But you always say I don't worry enough, so we balance out." He embraced him in a hug, reveling in the warm, soft _flesh_ of his brother's body. _You'd better not prove me wrong, you bastard father, or I'll fucking _kill_ you._

The two sat in silence for a few minutes before the door opened yet again. Molly had returned with—_a floating tray of food_? Ed could only stare as she directed it with a small stick, similar to Dumbledore's. He wanted very badly to ask her how she was doing it—if it was the _magic_ Dumbledore had talked about…but Al came first. He nodded gratefully at her as she—somehow—set the enormous platter down on the bed. She smiled brightly in response.

Al picked up a fork with shaking fingers and looked at all the food in front of him. "What should I eat first?" he asked Ed, continuing to stare. "It all looks so good…"

Ed considered the question, looking at all the food as well. "Well, what did you want to eat the most?"

"You always said apple pie was really good…I haven't had any since Mom used to make it…" Al eyed the tan and red pastry in a far corner of the tray hungrily, and Ed immediately picked it up and set it in front of his brother. Al dug his still-shaking fork into the pie, and slowly took a bite.

His face changed almost instantly; he looked almost as happy as he had when he woke up to find himself back in his body. Ed beamed as his little brother dug hungrily into more of the pie. _This is how it's supposed to be._ He heard a chuckle from behind him; he turned around to see Molly smiling fondly as she watched Al eat. He caught her eye and tried his best to imitate Dumbledore—"Thank-you." He said it slowly, and it didn't really sound at all like the old man's speech, but apparently it was enough. Her smile grew wider, and she said something in return, presumably something along the lines of "you're welcome."

"Brother, you should have some too!" Al sounded worried. "It's been a long day, and you haven't had anything to eat…"

Ed turned, shaking his head. "I'll eat whatever you don't. You need it more than I do!" Al frowned, but Ed pushed the two tall glasses of milk toward him. "Look, milk! Your bones need it so badly you'll have to drink both our glasses. What a shame."

Al rolled his eyes good-naturedly and picked one up. "Oh!" He stopped drinking after a moment, as if just remembering something. His brow scrunched up in concentration. "Uh…thank-you," he said to Molly uncertainly, looking embarrassed that he had forgotten. She nodded, smiling happily at him, and gestured at the tray to indicate he should keep eating.

After another minute or so, Molly left the two brothers alone. "I like her," Al announced after a while. He chomped happily on a forkful of baked potato as the rest of it drowned in butter on his plate. He had eaten a bit of everything so far, and was well on his way to finishing off three-quarters of the plate. Ed had been worried about him eating so much at once—wasn't that supposed to be bad when you were malnourished?—but then he had remembered Dumbledore's mention of the "spells" Molly had used. _Maybe they stabilized his stomach._

"Yeah, I guess she seems nice enough. You like her cooking, at least…" He said it normally enough, but he knew Al would not miss the amused glint in his eye.

"I think we should stay here until I'm better, that's all! Then we'll figure out how to get back to Central, and help clean up." Ed merely nodded; he didn't want to tell his brother that he had no idea _how_ they would get back home. It was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives…he wouldn't ruin this for his brother.

"Sounds like a great idea."

* * *

Albus walked up to the boys' room an hour or so later, mulling over everything he knew about them. To be quite honest, it was not much. He had his suspicions… Nicholas, he knew, had been the only man who spoke Xerxesian, and if these boys were from the same place as him… He had considered using Legilimency on at least one of them to find out more, but had decided against it—unless absolutely necessary. It was impossible to fake the level of affection Ed showed for his brother; Albus was fairly certain the boys meant them no harm. Maybe when Al was more healthy they would willingly tell him more…

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, when he heard the brothers talking in their room. "Go to sleep, I'll stay up a little longer," Ed was saying. "I'll wait until Molly comes up for the dishes."

Albus heard the faint sound of shifting covers. Al's timid voice just barely carried through the door—"…How do you sleep, again?"

Ed responded with a kind of choked sob, and Albus was baffled. What kind of question was that? Surely, even if he had not eaten much, the boy had to have slept at some point… "You just…close your eyes and lay still," Ed said slowly. "And try not to think too much. Just get comfortable. You'll be asleep before you know it!" His voice cracked at the end, and Albus wondered what kind of situation Al had really come from.

"Thanks, Brother…" Al's voice trailed off into a whisper that the Headmaster could not hear. He took his hand off the doorknob; questions could wait until later. For now, he would leave the boys to their slumber.

* * *

Nobody came up to get the tray for nearly half an hour. The stress of the day was catching up to Ed; he could barely keep his eyes open. He looked over in the dim light to Al, who, after being reminded how, had fallen asleep quickly. Now he was nearly invisible under all of the blankets. Ed supposed that, after half a decade of feeling no fatigue, exhaustion would be a foreign concept; his brother would barely have recognized it for what it was. He felt the familiar pang of guilt, but shoved it down and out of sight.

He laid down on the enormous bed as well, sinking into the soft pillows. He supposed all of the adrenaline he had produced throughout the day—first during the fights, and then trying to figure out this strange new place—had finally worn him down. He closed his eyes, not even bothering to kick off his boots, and planned to sleep well into the morning.

Then the door banged into the wall.

Ed's eyes shot open again to see five figures crowded in the doorway, talking in what were probably supposed to be hushed tones. He quickly decided that they had to be the worst-ever burglars—murderers—whatever they were—if they thought _this_ was sneaky. Even he, the loudmouthed, clunky Fullmetal Alchemist, was better than _this_. Ed did not move from his position, but watched the figures to see what they would do next. If he was lucky, they would go away and he could get some much-needed sleep…

Unfortunately, they filtered in, a couple bearing some sort of strange candle straight out in front of them. The voices sounded relatively young, and there were at least two girls, but he knew that teenagers and females could be just as dangerous as hulking adult men. He tensed, ready to spring, preparing both an automail fist and several mental equations to protect Al from these intruders.

Then they moved too close to the bed, and Ed pounced. He threw a heavy punch at the closest figure's face with his right fist; the person dropped like a stone, letting out a high-pitched scream. _One of the girls, then._ Ed rounded on the other four figures, ready to take them out in the same manner, but then there was a yell and a jet of red light in the darkness. He suddenly couldn't move a single inch of his body, and he topped face-first to the floor. He could feel no restraints; it was as if all of his muscles would not move from their locked positions. _This is not normal—!_

"Brother…?" Al's voice called sleepily from the bed, and Ed would have sworn if his lips had worked. Now they knew there were two of them, and Al was nearly helpless in his current state. If they could take _him_ down so easily, Al was a goner—

_No!_ He would not lose his brother so quickly after getting him back. He had to break these bonds! He had gotten out of worse situations in the past; he just had to exert more energy than what was used in the restraints. He could do this—

"Brother?" Al's voice sounded nervous now, and Ed could hear him patting the sheets, feeling in the dark for him. Ed struggled uselessly against his invisible bonds. "Who are all you?" Al was suddenly terrified, Ed could tell, and if he and the intruders had caught sight of each other—"Ed? Edward! _What did you do to my brother?_"

The four remaining strangers just—rather stupidly—babbled in their language, seeming to take several steps back. Ed could have been thankful for such a small blessing, but first he had to get free and knock the rest of them out—

He felt himself being flipped over; instead of inhaling the musty, near-suffocating smell of the carpet, he was looking up at the water-stained ceiling. Then something very frizzy filled his vision. It took him a moment to realize it was someone's hair. The person lit another of the strange candles—Ed realized it looked like Molly's stick—and he could finally see a teenage girl's terrified face. Her nose was smashed and blood flowed freely down her front. She waved the stick—Ed would have tensed if he could have—and said something thickly in her strange language. Suddenly he could move again, and, not caring to thank her or wonder why the _hell_ she had just saved him, he backpedaled and yelled, "Al? You all right?"

"Brother?" Ed had almost never heard that much relief in Al's voice, and he felt a pang of guilt for causing his brother to panic like that. "I'm fine…who are these people?" Trepidation quickly began to overcome the relief, and Ed immediately leapt to his feet, standing between the intruders and the bed in a defensive stance.

"I dunno, but I'll take care of them. Already broke a—"

Suddenly, light flooded the hallway past the open door, and several more figures came running in. Ed swore; he might be able to take five on a good day, but nine would be able to beat him easily. And then they'd get to Al and—

More light spread into the room from the sticks, making it bright as day. He saw several heads of red hair, along with the girl with the broken nose, Sirius, and Remus. All at once Ed's fighting stance deflated. These kids _lived_ here? And they probably got _bored_ and decided to go check out the new residents. (He disregarded the fact that if he were in their place, he would have done the exact same thing.)

"Ed?" Sirius said cautiously, walking slowly forward with his empty hands in plain sight. "Al?"

One of the red-haired boys near Ed said something angrily, and Molly ran to the frizzy girl, looking concerned. She waved her stick; suddenly, her nose was reformed. With another swish all the blood was gone. Ed could only stare. _Was that Alkahestry? No, even that doesn't work that fast…_

Then Molly, Remus, and the unfamiliar red-haired man began yelling at the teenaged intruders. Sirius stayed near the bed. Edward didn't know whether he was attempting to guard them from the others, or if it was the other way around, but he didn't really care at the moment. The kids had barged into his and Al's room. Even if Sirius didn't think so, Ed knew he had done nothing wrong. These people could have been _murderers_!

He had to admit, though, that the language barrier was really starting to piss him off. If they were staying for any length of time, it would definitely be beneficial for him and Al to learn at least a little bit of their ridiculous language. He made a snap decision and turned to Sirius—"Ed. Al. English." The man looked down at him in surprise, and the blond stared right back at him, determined and not willing in the least to back down. After a moment, Sirius shrugged and nodded. Ed grinned wolfishly.

"Thank-you!"


	4. Enigmatic Soul

**IV**  
**Enigmatic Soul**

Breakfast was a quiet affair the next morning. The only people awake for it were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, and Hermione, and they all sat in silence, thinking about the two strange boys upstairs. Hermione, for her part, flinched at the memory of the older boy breaking her nose. His fist had felt less like flesh—even for a strongly backed punch—and more like she had sprinted right into a brick wall. Her face twinged with phantom pains at the memory, and she barely kept herself from rubbing her nose.

"Have they had any breakfast?" Mr. Weasley asked, finally breaking the silence.

His wife shook her head, standing up immediately. "I'll put a tray together right away. I don't know how much Ed ate last night…he made his brother eat most of it…"

_And for good reason!_ Before she and the Weasleys had invaded their room, Hermione had not gotten a good look at either boy. But once the adults had arrived, she had seen how thin the smaller boy really was. It worried her to no end; the poor child was skin and bones! He needed food, as much as possible, and that was right up Mrs. Weasley's alley.

"I'll bring it up," she volunteered. She really did not know why she jumped at the opportunity to return to the boys; maybe she just wanted to make amends. At the very least, she could apologize for intruding the night before.

"I don't know…" Lupin said, looking reluctant. "They may not like seeing you again after last night…"

"I want to say sorry, too," she said quickly. "I won't stay long…"

Lupin looked like he wanted to object, but then Mrs. Weasley came back with a huge tray of food. "Can you carry all of this upstairs, dear?" she asked, looking concerned as she handed it over. Hermione nearly staggered under the weight, but quickly recovered.

"I'll be fine…be back in a minute!" And she walked briskly up the stairs to the correct door.

Opening it carefully, she glanced around the room before stepping in herself. Both boys were still in bed, seemingly fast asleep…but then, that's what she had thought the night before.

She walked quietly across the room and put the tray on the old writing desk a few feet from the bed. She was about to leave—nobody had become airborne, so she figured both boys were well and truly asleep this time—when she heard shifting sheets. Hermione spun around to see the older boy slowly sitting up, his long braided hair a mess and his eyes half-lidded with sleep.

She stepped back several paces, not wanting a repeat of the night before, but the boy did not seem to notice her at first. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, blinking away the grogginess of sleep. Hermione felt that maybe she should leave, but then he finally seemed to notice her. He stared at her blankly for a moment before apparently deciding she wasn't remarkably interesting, for he turned around on the bed, toward his brother.

"Uh—" Hermione started loudly. He turned around again suddenly, his gaze boring into her. She nearly quailed but resolutely stood her ground, fighting through her anxiety to the words she had planned to say. "I brought breakfast, Mrs. Weasley made it for you. Just—"

The boy stared at her for the first part of her sentence before sighing loudly and turning away again. Hermione suddenly remembered that the boys did not speak a word of English. It pained her a bit that she wouldn't be able to apologize, but she wasn't about to give up. "Hey!" she said loudly, in as commanding of a tone as she could muster. The boy turned around again, looking vaguely irritated. She pointed over to the tray on the desk. His gaze followed her finger and landed on the enormous pile of food. He nodded once at her, his eyes less harsh than earlier, before beginning to turn away again.

"I'm Hermione," the Gryffindor said suddenly. She didn't know why she was introducing herself, but figured it was the polite thing to do. The boy stared uncomprehendingly at her, and she tried again. "Hermione." She said it slowly, pointing at herself for emphasis.

The boy nodded shortly in comprehension and pointed a gloved thumb at his own chest. "Ed."

* * *

"You went back in there?" Ron asked incredulously around one, only half an hour after he had finally woken up. "The nutter broke your nose! Didn't you see him last night? He was—"

"—scared," she finished for him. "We didn't even think about it from their view. They apparently just showed up here, nobody speaks their language, one of them is so weak he can barely move, and then a whole bunch of people they don't know run into their room. I think I'd be defensive too!"

"Yeah—well—" Ron seemed at a loss for words. "He didn't have to attack you!"

"We all had our wands out," Hermione argued. "And we probably looked pretty threatening. Especially to the one who's so sick." Looking back at their plan, it was foolhardy, ill-thought-out, and just plain _stupid_. She could not fathom why she had ever agreed to such an idea in the first place.

Ron seemed to have no reply to this; Hermione felt a burst of satisfaction. "They're bloody nutters," the redhead insisted, still looking angry. "Shouldn't have attacked you…"

"Well, the 'bloody nutters' want to learn English," Sirius said genially, leaning on the doorway. Both teenagers jumped in surprise. "Hermione, you think you could try and teach them?"

"Me?" she squeaked. How was she supposed to teach an entire language to two kids when she didn't know a word of their native tongue? It'd be nearly impossible!

"Could you try, at least?" Sirius asked, launching himself off the door frame and walking fully into the room. "Merlin knows you've got more brains and patience than the rest of us. Dumbledore could probably help you out when he comes by, but he isn't around enough to teach two kids a brand-new language…"

Hermione was still rather dubious. "I can try," she said slowly. "Maybe I could teach them the alphabet and the different sounds. But structure would be impossible without Professor Dumbledore…"

"Next time he's free I'll ask him to help you out with that," Sirius promised. "If you don't have anything else to do, would you mind going over now? Ed's been a bit restless since they finished lunch…"

Ron snorted. "Who's to say he won't try to attack her again?" He shook his head derisively. "He went _nuts_ last—"

"He punched Hermione because he saw you all as a threat," Sirius cut him off, unknowingly parroting what she had said earlier. "He's fiercely protective of his brother. He had no idea who you were or what you were doing, so he defended Al." Ron seemed to deflate; he said nothing more on the subject as they stood up.

"I'll try my best," she said as they began walking down the hallway, "but I don't know how quickly they'll pick it up or how helpful I'll be…"

"You'll do fine," Sirius said encouragingly. They were standing outside their room far too soon, though, and she looked apprehensively at the closed door… _Maybe I can't do this. This is insane! Why—_ "C'mon, you're a Gryffindor!" Sirius said, shoving her forward a little. "They won't hurt you. Go ahead." She reached forward with a not-quite-shaking hand and pushed the door open.

Someone had evidently brought in a second bed sometime that morning; Ed was sitting on the edge of one, talking to his brother—Al?—who was propped up on pillows against the headboard of the other. They were deep in serious conversation; their language sounded so complex, so alien, that Hermione almost refused then and there. But then the gaunt boy—Al?—caught sight of her and waved in a friendly manner. He, at least, seemed to hold no grudges from the fiasco the night before…

Hermione heard the door close behind her; she was totally alone with two people she could barely communicate with. Both boys were looking expectantly at her now, and she was again filled with irrational fear. How could she possibly start teaching them a complex language like English? There was no way! She had half a mind to turn around and run right out of the room, but she would never be able to bear the humiliation surely waiting for her downstairs. She had to try, at least… She squared her shoulders and said, as clearly as she could, "English?"

Al perked up, and Ed looked very pleased, jumping to sit on the edge of his brother's bed so they could all talk easier. Glad that the three of them were at least on good terms, Hermione walked forward, pulling the desk chair over to the bed. After a moment's consideration, she also took the empty lunch tray as a desk and some writing utensils, seating herself so the boys could see both her and the parchment. She paused for a moment. How could she possibly start teaching such a complicated language?

Deciding to just start with the alphabet—there were only twenty-six characters; hopefully that would be easy enough to memorize—she started writing out the letters in her neat print, both capital and lowercase. Both sets of golden eyes watched her intently, unnerving her a bit, but she stubbornly continued.

When she got to G, Ed snatched the parchment and quill from her hand. She looked up, a little irritated, but the boy was scribbling something down. When he returned it to her, an expectant look on his face, something was written there in chicken-scratch handwriting.

"Edward Elric?" she said in surprise, looking up at the boys. Was that Ed's full name? But the fact that he had written it—and that she could read it—meant they wrote using the same alphabet!

The boys' faces split into enormous grins, and Hermione couldn't help but mirror them. Maybe this really would be easier than she had thought…

* * *

"You WHAT?"

Mad-Eye Moody's gruff voice carried upstairs later that afternoon, just as Hermione and the Elrics were about done for the day. She was astonished at how quickly they were picking up the language. They had only been learning for four hours; in that time, they had memorized nearly two hundred words and phrases. (She had been skeptical, but after quizzing them several times, she had to admit that they did indeed know them.) In addition, they were well on their way to understanding the sentence structure of the language. Hermione wasn't quite sure how they had figured that out, as she hadn't even touched on the subject, but…

The only warnings they got of the impending intruder were the uneven footsteps stomping down the hall. Then the door slammed open, and Alastor Moody walked in, glaring at the three teenagers. Ed immediately made to stand up, but Hermione put up a hand to stop him, turning to address the rugged man. "Hello, Professor."

The man's normal eye snapped to her, but his magical eye stayed trained on the two boys on the bed. "You're up here _alone_ with them, Granger? What were you thinking? They could've killed you!"

"Well, they didn't, did they?" Hermione shot back, immediately defensive. Sure, nobody knew anything about them, but Dumbledore didn't have a problem with them staying. That was good enough for her. "I'm teaching them English."

"They're not even from around here?" His frown deepened, and he took a few uneven steps forward; Hermione saw Ed's attention snap to Moody's legs. The boy's eyebrows rose, but she didn't understand why. Even if amputees were not common, he would understand _why_ he had a wooden leg, yes?

"Your…leg?" Ed said slowly. Though many of the phonemes of their languages were similar, Hermione had noticed that the boys had trouble differentiating between r's and l's, and they had—at first—struggled with some of the blended sounds. She would not have understood what Ed had just said, had the direction of his gaze not made it obvious what he was talking about.

Moody laughed darkly, his false eye pinned on the boy. "How about _your_ leg, shrimp? That's pretty—"

"Alastor!" Mrs. Weasley said loudly from the doorway, effectively cutting him off. "I _told _you not to bother them! They're not doing any harm—"

Hermione tuned out the adults and turned to Ed and Al. She wanted very badly to ask what was wrong with Ed's leg, but knew it was none of her business. If he hadn't complained about it, it was probably not a big deal…

She suspected the only thing the boys had understood from Moody's reply had been "your leg," the same thing Ed had said, but for some reason Ed looked both shocked and angry. He glared hard at the scarred man until he finally left with Mrs. Weasley.

"No more today?" Hermione said slowly and clearly, making sure to stick to the vocabulary they knew. It really was incredible, how much they had been able to absorb in such a short time. At this rate, she expected they would be relatively fluent within a couple of weeks.

Ed shrugged, nodding. "Tomorrow?" his brother asked hopefully, staring up at her with the hopeful eyes of a child. Hermione had to remind herself that he was almost fifteen; he was only a year younger than she was. It was hard to believe, though, when he was acting like he had just been born. He touched everything within reach, even asking Hermione to bring him things from across the room simply so he could hold them; every breath he inhaled seemed to bring him the utmost joy. And when his eyes had closed in slumber for a few minutes, he had suddenly snapped awake again. A strangely surprised look had crossed his face, followed by one of—of all things—satisfaction. He had grinned brightly—an expression which his brother had readily returned, ruffling his hair—and then continued with the lesson as if nothing had happened. Hermione would respect their privacy, of course, but she thought Al very strange indeed. _I wonder if we'll ever know what happened to him._

"Yes, tomorrow. After lunch?" she said, and, receiving answers in the affirmative, she turned to go. As she turned to shut the door behind her, waving at the boys, she noticed something else that was very odd.

She had been in the room for more than four hours, and not once had Al loosened his tight grip on his brother's arm.

* * *

"You're alive!" Fred's jubilant voice greeted her as she walked into Ron's room, where she knew the others would be congregated.

"Of course I am—don't be ridiculous," she said, shaking her head and smiling. "They're not going to kill me!"

Ron grumbled incoherently from his bed but said nothing. Hermione overlooked this, sitting next to Ginny on the extra bed—"They're actually learning very fast…going to be fluent very soon if they keep it up."

Ron huffed, apparently unable to think of a reply, but Fred and George only laughed good-naturedly. They all sat there in silence for a moment before George perked up. "They're having a meeting tonight, right? Mum hasn't seen the Ears yet…wanna give them a go?"

They all agreed, Hermione a bit reluctantly…but then she thought that maybe they would discuss Ed and Al. She had told nobody Ed's full name, and had not expressed her confusion about Al to anyone. She felt that doing so would break their fragile bond of trust. She wasn't sure why—it wasn't as if they had talked much—but she felt a strange sort of friendship emerging between them. She didn't want to ruin it, especially so soon after it had been forged.

Several minutes later, the five of them were huddled on the landing near the kitchen door, waiting to be sure everyone was safely inside before sending down the Extendable Ear. Hermione wasn't quite sure how they worked yet, but they seemed to be functioning well enough. She suddenly heard Dumbledore's booming voice call the room to order, and, just as she had hoped, he started immediately on the topic of the Elrics. Most of the Order did not know about the house's newest residents, so the old man filled them in while Moody muttered faintly in the background.

"I do not perceive them as a threat," he finished. "They have done nothing that poses a problem. I think it is reasonable to allow them to stay until the younger recovers, find out where they are from, then wipe their memories and send them home."

A buzz of noise followed; it was difficult to pick out a single voice in the mass. "Are they even wizards?" Moody said loudly, quieting down many of the others. "They haven't got wands, right? And—"

"They appeared right out of thin air, Mad-Eye," Lupin's calm voice said. "No Muggle could do that. It's definitely some kind of magic."

Hermione was a little surprised; she had not even thought of that. Sure, neither boy had drawn a wand while she had seen them, and Ed definitely seemed to prefer Muggle fighting techniques. But maybe he was just Muggleborn and had been brought up with it. There was nothing wrong with that! She made a mental note to figure out some way to ask them about magic when she got the chance.

The topic was winding down; it seemed that the general consensus was to allow the boys to stay, at least until Al was healthy and strong again. Despite Moody's urging to the contrary, Dumbledore wanted to let them stay, and that settled the matter for many. The adults moved on to other matters that were not quite as interesting, so Hermione let her mind wander a bit, still thinking about the Elrics. How could she bring up magic and say it in a way they could understand? It'd take some tricky wording, that was for sure…

Ginny made a surprised noise, and Fred nearly yanked the ear up as a precaution; it turned out that she was looking behind them, back down the hall. Hermione looked that way as well, and saw Ed walking slowly toward them, staring with a curious expression at the dreary pictures on the wall. He caught sight of them, and tensed before seeing Hermione. He walked right up to her; Ron made a noise, but she held up a hand to silence him, turning to Ed. "Hey."

"Hey," he said in reply, looking around at the group of them, specifically the Extendable Ear, with a confused but guarded expression. "Soon food? Al…"

It looked like the others had not really understood what he had said, but Hermione had little trouble. "Soon," she promised. "The adults are talking now."

He frowned at the unfamiliar word "adults," and Hermione tried to elaborate. "Uh…Sirius, Remus, Molly, Dumbledore, and more," she said slowly. "Molly cooks after."

Ed nodded sharply, turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall. "You taught him English for four hours, and he understood all of that?" Ginny said, staring after him with a rather shocked expression.

"He got the general idea, at least," Hermione agreed. "I told you, they're both picking it up really fast."

"Nutter," Ron said, still looking rather angry. Hermione thought he was being a bit dramatic; just because Ed punched her in _self-defense…_

"They're getting boring again," she announced suddenly, leaning toward the Ear and trying to get Ron off the topic. "Let's go back to the room before they confiscate this."


	5. Dreams of the Dead

**V**  
**Dreams of the Dead**

Ed finally came to admit that, despite his best efforts, he was adjusting to the slow pace of life in this new place. It had been a little more than a week since they had been dumped here, and he still had no idea of how to get home. _London_, he had been corrected, was a city, the largest in _Britain_, which was a part of _Europe_. They said these names as if everyone knew what they were, so Ed thought it best to play along. He and his brother were at these people's mercy; who knew what they would do if they found out Ed and Al didn't know this "common knowledge?" No one knew they were in the wrong universe…and he intended to keep it that way.

They had met a few more people from around the house, and Ed had occasionally listened in on the meetings downstairs with the other teenagers. Some of the things they talked about had a terrifying familiarity to them… A magical family slaughtered brutally, sliced to pieces…Death Eaters (whatever _those_ were) disappearing…

But those excursions were few and far between. Al was still generally confined to his bed, and Ed stayed with him…but for some reason, people felt the need to come and try to talk to them. They all spoke very fast, and Ed could only catch bits and pieces of what they were saying. Sure, if they had spoken slower and waited for Ed to puzzle out unfamiliar words, they might have been able to hold a conversation. As it was, though, most got impatient and left in a huff.

What were they expecting? The first time he had heard their goddamned language was a _week_ ago.

What was eating at him the most was the lingering feeling that something was not quite right. They were picking up the language fast enough; that wasn't an issue. He planned to talk to Sirius or Dumbledore about getting back home as soon as they could. But something about the reports he listened in on…they were _too_ familiar…he didn't like this…

"Hermione," he said during a lull in their lesson a few days later, trying to think of the best way to say this, "Do you have a…world picture?"

Al looked at him in confusion, and Hermione nodded slowly. "A map? I can go look for you."

He nodded and filed away this new bit of vocabulary. Hermione was probably one of the most agreeable people they had met so far; she and Molly had not shown even an ounce of impatience toward him and Al. He also quite liked Sirius, who had jumped at the chance to teach him English's repertoire of swear words. Ed found the language rather lacking compared to others (Amestrian had several that didn't seem to translate; Drachman had even more) but he appreciated the fact that he could properly curse at the "Ron" boy who seemed to hate him so much.

"Why do you want a map, Brother?" Al asked after Hermione had left to retrieve it. He had made great strides toward a full recovery; Ed could barely believe how fast it was happening. His little brother could walk with little help now, and his painfully skinny body was already starting to fill out. Ed only knew a little about this type of medicine, but was fairly certain that recovery from such advanced neglect took several months. These people were healing his brother at a nearly miraculous rate, and Ed could only be thankful.

"I just want to check something. All those deaths they're talking about downstairs…you should come listen sometime. Maybe you'll have a better idea than me…something isn't right…"

Al's frown deepened. "What kind of deaths? Was alchemy—?"

"Alchemy?" Hermione's curious voice echoed from the doorway. Ed looked over, surprised; she stood there staring at them, a roll of parchment held loosely in her hand. "Did you just say alchemy?"

"Yes…" he said, frowning further. The two of them had been speaking Amestrian, and Hermione had not learned even a bit of their language. So how would she—?

"Like turning metal into gold?" the girl said, her voice rather high.

Ed mulled over the word "gold" before deciding that it didn't matter; alchemy could be used to manipulate metal, so he assumed she was correct. "Yes?"

"That's the same word as in English!" Hermione's eyes were very wide now, and she rushed over to the bed, saying so much so fast that Ed could not possibly keep up. He coughed loudly, and she blushed and said, much slower, "So why are you talking about it? It's practically a dead art…"

Ed shared an incredulous look with Al; what did she mean by that? "It is not important. Map?" He held out his hand expectantly for the paper, and she immediately handed it over. He unrolled it, expecting to see an unfamiliar image…but the sight still threw him for a loop. _Everything is different—absolutely everything…_

But he couldn't just stare at it all day. He had to check….if someone was trying to do the same thing as the Homunculus had, they had to stop them…

"Where are we?" he asked Hermione after a moment, shifting to give her a clear view of the map.

She looked at him oddly before pointing out a country in the north, near the middle of the map. It wasn't even _remotely_ circular; Ed found himself breathing a sigh of relief as he rolled the map back up. "Can we keep this?" Even if these killings weren't points on an array, there still may have been a pattern…

Hermione shrugged, still looking confused. "Go ahead. I just got it out of the library, so…"

_A library?_ Ed nodded, making a mental note to seek it out next time he had a spare moment. _Maybe it'll have something to help us get home…_

* * *

Several hours, a lively discussion, and a nap later, Ed decided that he couldn't sit still any longer. Nobody had told him that he _couldn't wander, and he wanted to see what the commotion was downstairs. Telling Al he would be back in a bit, he stepped out of the room and began walking down the hall._

"Oh, Harry!" Molly said from downstairs. Ed was a bit confused; as far as he knew, there was nobody in the house named Harry. She continued to talk, but she was speaking quickly, and other voices overlapped hers. Ed didn't have a hope of deciphering what she was saying.

Soon, though, Molly appeared on the stairs, followed by a surly-looking boy around Ed's age with a mop of black hair. "Ed!" she said in surprise, and he snapped his attention back to her. "We are having a meeting downstairs, so if you could stay up here for now, please…I will bring you dinner in a few hours." She said it slower than how she normally spoke, which Ed was grateful for. Women tended to talk very fast, and he often couldn't keep up with them in this strange language.

The boy was staring at Ed like he had grown a second head, and he glared right back. The kid was scrawny, about his height, and—for some reason—thoroughly windswept. "Ed, this is Harry," Molly said after a few seconds of silence. "He is going to live here for the rest of the summer. Harry, I'm sure Ron and Hermione will fill you in. I really must be going…"

"Harry" stood looking at Ed for a few seconds even after Molly had left, and the blond laughed. "What is wrong? I have done nothing to you, yet…"

The boy looked thrown off by his—admittedly, rather thick—accent, and took a few seconds to reply. "Uh…nothing. Do you know where Ron's room is?"

"Tall and red hair?" At Harry's nod, Ed pointed down the hall. "Third door on the—right."

Harry nodded again, but seemed hesitant to leave. "Who are you?"

"Ed," he answered immediately. Was he deaf? Molly had already introduced them!

"I know that!" The boy looked irritated; Ed was amused. "I meant, what are you doing here?"

"My brother is sick. We will stay until he is better."

"Oh." Harry's temper deflated, and he looked rather at a loss for a reply. Ed felt vaguely irritated. These people were no fun! He had a sudden wish to be back home, if only to enjoy a proper, intelligent debate with Winry or the colonel. "Well, I hope he gets better soon," he offered, and walked down the hall to his friend's room.

Ed huffed and watched him go. He still felt horribly restless, so he decided to look around the second floor for that library Hermione had mentioned. Maybe he could bring back some books for Al…

He poked his head into each room in the hall, starting on the far end. Most were bedrooms in various states of occupancy. Some were dusty and bare, while others had large trunks, obviously slept-in beds, or a general state of disarray. He reluctantly skipped Ron's room. As much as he wanted to antagonize the other teenagers, Harry sounded ridiculously pissed off. He couldn't properly argue in English yet, despite his best efforts; he'd have to wait for a few more lessons from Sirius.

He found an intersecting hallway near the stairs, and he followed it curiously. This house seemed much bigger than he had originally thought; he supposed it only made sense, with the number of people that appeared to be living in it. There were a few bedrooms down there, too, but there also were several studies and sitting rooms. _Geez, how many rooms does one house need…_

Halfway down the hall, he opened the door to what looked like some sort of lounge. It was just as old, musty, and unused as the other rooms, and he was just about to leave when he noticed the desk in the corner. Unless he was mistaken, it seemed to be _shaking._

_What the hell?_ Ed knew he was far too curious for his own good, but he walked up to it. The shaking intensified as he got closer, but he could not see the cause of the violent tremors. On impulse, he yanked open the single drawer.

The world turned white.

"Game over, Mr. Al-che-mist!"

* * *

Hermione was running out of ways to calm Harry down. It seemed like her friend, who she had been so excited to see, wasn't quite so happy about reuniting with them. She supposed his accusations of being cut off were true, but they simply _couldn't_ tell him anything through the mail. What if it had been intercepted?

Harry took another deep breath, probably to start another loud rant, but a yell from another part of the house cut him off. He stopped and looked over at his friends, confused. It took Hermione a moment to place the voice, but she finally realized who it was. There was a reason she couldn't understand the words… "That's Ed!" she said, aghast. His voice was faint, but it sounded distinctly panicked.

"I just saw him in the hall," Harry countered. "He can't have gotten into anything—"

More yells. The three of them shared a look before running out of the room and toward where they thought the voice was coming from. Hermione saw the Elrics' door swing open; a very pale Al stood there, clutching the doorframe for support. "Al, what's he saying?" Hermione asked urgently. She saw Harry give the boy an odd look, but there was no time to explain.

Al's mouth worked soundlessly, his face going even paler as he listened to his brother's cries. "We can help. What is wrong?" Hermione repeated, slower this time.

Al shook his head violently, looking to Hermione with huge, imploring eyes. "Help him—I am slow—"

She hesitated, seeing his obvious intent to follow, and wondered if she should wait up with him. His terrified tone decided for her. "_Go_! Brother is in danger!"

She gave the frail boy one last look before speeding off, Ron and Harry close behind her. The shouts—now reduced to a sort of choked sob—were coming from another hall. She careened around the corner and finally came to the door of the drawing room. When the three of them ran in, though, there was no decrepit furniture or moldy carpet. There was only unnerving, unending whiteness.

"What the _hell_?" Ron's shocked voice said from beside her. A ways away—it was impossible to gauge any sort of distance—was an enormous stone…_thing_. In front of it was a trashed suit of armor and a figure with a golden braid, hunched over something and shaking violently.

"Ed…?" Hermione said, stepping forward hesitantly, not knowing whether the floor continued uninterrupted. As she got closer, she saw what Ed was clutching so tightly: Al lay there, pale, lifeless, and as thin as he was when he had first arrived.

Hermione could only stare. That didn't make sense; they had left Al back in the hallway, to come as quickly as he could. There was no way he could have gotten here before them, and there was _certainly_ no way he could have died! She knelt next to Ed, trying hard not to look at the dead boy cradled in his arms, and talked to him in what she hoped was a soothing voice. Ed didn't even seem to notice her presence.

She heard a laugh to her left, and turned quickly to confront the source. All she could see was what looked like a disembodied arm and leg. But then, looking closer, she could make out that the limbs were attached to a person made of the whiteness. Its only distinguishable feature was an unsettling grin. It started talking, sounding thoroughly pleased with itself, and Ed's sobs grew louder. It took a moment for her to realize that though the words she heard were clearly Amestrian, the voice was also echoing through her head in English—"No brother, no friends, no _country…_what will you do now, _Mr. Alchemist?_"

She did not allow herself to wonder what the voice meant by that; there was only room for utter horror in her mind. What the hell _was_ that thing? How had it killed Al and what was going on—

She turned to the boys behind her, who were standing there rather stupidly, staring at the phenomenon before them. "Go downstairs, get Dumbledore!" If anyone could figure this out, could stop it or reverse it or—

Harry snapped out of his stupor first and dashed out the door, nearly colliding with Al as he finally arrived. The blond took one look at the situation and nearly fell over; he was shaking so badly he could barely stand. Ron—apparently ignoring his supposed hatred of the boys in light of the situation—rushed to him and helped him into the room. Al took in the armor, his brother, and his own dead body in a sort of horrified daze. He seemed not to notice the floating stone slab until the white being stepped in front of it and said something to Ed. Again, it echoed through Hermione's mind—"There's an answer…but it's too late for them now…"

"Al?" Hermione said cautiously, loath to step too far from his hysterical brother. "Do you know what this is?"

"How is it here…?" he said, his awed voice almost too faint to hear. "The door is _there_…" He gestured vaguely behind him, toward the door to the hallway. It looked almost laughably out of place in the ethereal environment.

Cackling from behind her made Hermione spin around again; the great—doors—were opening now, revealing endless blackness. It was such a contrast to the white that Hermione's eyes took a moment to adjust. But then, to her horror, thin arms reached out of the darkness. They picked up the armor and brought it back to disappear beyond the doors. Then, they reappeared, heading straight for Ed.

"Brother!" Al said in Amestrian; it was one of the only words Hermione had picked up. His voice sounded panicked, and Hermione could understand why. They had no idea what this was, how it had gotten there, or what it was capable of. "Brother! BROTHER!"

The sobbing boy's head snapped up at Al's voice, and he looked back toward the three of them, eyes wide and deluded. Before he could say anything, though, the arms picked him up and began to retreat back to the blackness.

Hermione snapped out of her petrified trance, sprung to her feet, and latched onto one of his legs, trying in vain to pull him back down. She only succeeded in being dragged toward the doors as well. She looked back in desperation at Ron and Al, who wore twin expressions of sickly terror.

But then, behind them, several figures appeared in the doorway. Dumbledore stood at the front, taking in the situation and looking more confused than Hermione had ever seen him. He looked from the Al on the ground to the Al hanging onto Ron, and—somehow—he seemed to understand.

"_Riddikulus!_"

All at once, the room returned. The white—thing—the doors, the dead Al, and the spindly arms all disappeared. Ed came crashing down onto Hermione, but he rolled to his feet almost immediately, staring around at everyone with a crazed expression on his face.

"Bloody hell…" Sirius said after a few seconds. Hermione had to agree with him…that was a _boggart?_ Good God…

"Brother…" Al choked out, and Ed's eyes snapped to him, shining in disbelief. The thin boy continued in Amestrian, and Dumbledore's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Ed shook his head slowly, looking down at himself and pawing at his stomach for some reason.

"Everyone, I will be down in a moment. Please wait for me," Dumbledore said in a clear dismissal. The assembled Order members left, looking confused. Sirius and Mrs. Weasley hesitated, glancing worriedly at Ed, but the old man shooed them away.

"You three, too," he said to Hermione, Ron, and Harry. "Thank you for your help."

Hermione wanted to stay, to demand to know exactly what that thing was, but Dumbledore's tone left no room for argument. She moved toward the door, where Harry stood. Ron carefully walked Al over to Ed, who immediately put a supporting arm around his shoulders. The three left the room in silence, far too shocked to talk.

What in the world _was_ that?

* * *

"Whatever that was—whatever it said—it wasn't real."

Ed snapped his head around to glare at Dumbledore. He was still reeling from the near miss with the Gate; he was _not_ in the mood to play mind games with old men. "Like hell it wasn't! That—it can't be faked! It's a miracle nobody was _killed_!"

"It was an impersonation," the old man said, shaking his head. "It was a creature called a boggart, which takes the form of your worst fear."

"Uh huh. Sure." Ed's muddled mind was quickly clearing, and he was getting pissed off. "The Gate—it appeared because I opened that drawer, and—"

"The Gate?" Dumbledore looked thoughtful, though his eyes flashed in something like recognition. "I've heard of that before…"

"Yeah, because it's the same word as the garden or city gate," Ed said scathingly. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd _love_ to go back to our room, and I'd love it even _more_ if you left us the hell alone!"

"Brother…" Al said in a warning tone, but Ed would not be swayed. He tightened his grip on his brother and shoved his way past the old man.

"You still haven't told me where you're from," Dumbledore said loudly, seemingly at random. Ed laughed humorlessly.

"You wouldn't have heard of it. Promise."

"What did you mean?" Al said as soon as they were back in their room. "What did—"

"Wait," Ed said in Xingese. Al looked thrown off by the sudden language change, and stared at his brother. "Dumbledore barely knows Amestrian," he continued. "He probably doesn't speak any of the other languages at all. I don't want him listening in."

"How can you be sure?" Al was speaking Xingese as well, now, but he looked totally bewildered. "Brother, you're not telling me something. What did Truth say to you?"

Ed wanted to believe what the old man had said, that it had been a lie, but it had felt so real! The uneasy feeling he got every time he wound up there, the terrible sensation of the hands seizing him, the cruel laughter of the Truth. But it had told him that Amestris was _gone_, that Father had succeeded, that everyone he loved was dead, that there was nothing he could do about it. And Al's body—and the armor—

"It told me the Homunculus made the Stone, and Hohenheim didn't stop him in time," he said, wincing himself as he repeated the words. Al inhaled sharply. "But then it told me _you_ were dead, and even showed me your body, but you're _here_, so maybe if it lied about that…"

"So they're okay," Al sounded immensely relieved. "But we still have to figure out where we are and the fastest way home…"

Ed shook his head, though, collapsing back onto his bed. How the hell were they supposed to get enough equivalence to _cross dimensions?_ The Truth wasn't merciful; it didn't give people breaks; it took what it wanted and left its victims to die. He was reminded vividly of that mere minutes ago…

He knew they had to—_had to_—make it home…but he didn't even know where to start.


	6. Red Omen

**VI**  
**Red Omen**

Sirius was still rattled long after the Order meeting had finished. _What kind of boggart_ was_ that?_ He thought he had seen a lot in his life, but he had never encountered anything as terrifying as that—_thing_. Putting aside the dead body and the giant stone doors, the whiteness itself left him feeling very unsettled. Ed had been hysterical when they had arrived…and Sirius couldn't blame him.

"Will they be all right?" Molly looked beside herself with worry. She, Arthur, Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore were the only ones left in the kitchen, and Sirius was sure they were all thinking the same thing.

Dumbledore—of all things—chuckled. "Edward was cursing at me before long…I doubt the boggart did any lasting damage. I have no idea what it turned itself into, though…"

"You don't know what it was?" Arthur said, echoing Sirius' astonishment. If _Dumbledore_ didn't know…the mystery surrounding the boys was growing by the hour.

He shook his head. "I intend to talk with the two of them again. As much as I would like to trust them, we know next to nothing about who they are or where they came from…"

"Well, where do people speak Amestrian?" Remus asked, ever the logical one. "It can't be a very large area…"

"That's the problem," Dumbledore sighed. "The man who taught me this language called it 'Xerxesian.' Edward said the two were 'pretty much' the same. And I am fairly certain Amestris and Xerxes are not places on Earth..."

"What're you saying?" Sirius said, rather baffled. "That they've made up the entire language?"

Dumbledore looked grim. "I'm going to talk to them and confirm my theory before I say any more. But if I am right…it may be more difficult to send them home than we thought." With that cryptic statement, he retreated up the stairs.

"I suppose I should set up for dinner," Molly said at length, still looking very worried. "I'm sure all the kids are hungry…"

She moved distractedly into the kitchen. Sirius, feeling rather restless, decided to go upstairs and tell the rest of the teenagers. He went to Ron and Harry's room first, which proved to be a wise decision; all six of them were there, looking rather subdued. "Dinner's ready," he said, trying not to sound as melancholy as they all felt.

"Are they all right?" Hermione asked quickly.

"I think they're fine," Sirius assured her. "Dumbledore's—" He was cut off by loud yelling from a few rooms away, and he laughed. "Yep, Ed sounds fine to me."

She relaxed a bit, and the group began down the hall. Sirius chanced a glance into the boys' room on their way by; Ed was on his feet, red-faced and yelling at the old man in Amestrian. Al was silent but looked just as upset as his brother. Sirius shut the door quietly, thankful that they stayed far enough away from his mother's portrait. The _last_ thing they needed was a shrieking hag to go along with the indecipherable yelling.

"Shrimp doesn't seem too shaken up about it," Fred said off-handedly.

Ron scowled. "You weren't there. It was scary as hell! The dead Al and the armor—!"

Sirius was amused by the fact that Ron's hatred of the boys had all but disappeared, but then something else he said struck him as odd. "Wait, armor? There wasn't any when we got there…" _But the first thing Ed asked us was whether a suit of armor came with him…what's so important about it?_

"It was the same one as in the drawing from when they got here, yeah? Those arm—things—picked it up before they went for Ed," Ron said. "Thought it was weird, it was trashed and nobody was wearing it or anything. Dunno…he hasn't said anything about it before, has he?"

Sirius saw Harry's face darken as they continued on about the things he had missed, and quickly attempted to cut the subject short before he exploded. "You'd better not talk about this in front of your mother. She'd go ballistic," he warned, and the group all nodded reluctantly.

"Will you tell us if you find out any more about them?" Hermione asked, looking worried.

Sirius sighed. "It depends on what it is. Hopefully we'll be able to send them home soon, if all goes according to plan…"

"What's the big deal about them, anyway?" Harry demanded loudly as they entered the kitchen. "What're they doing here?"

"They popped in out of nowhere," Ginny piped up. "You saw Al? He's probably thirty pounds heavier than he was then. And Ed was all bloody, it was weird…"

"But where'd they _come_ from?" Harry interjected. "I thought there were wards and stuff, they can't just 'pop in'—"

"That's the thing," Sirius said thoughtfully. "The wards weren't damaged at all. We don't know how they got past them. But they haven't done any harm, so…"

The conversation stopped abruptly when Molly reappeared, food floating behind her. They helped her set the table, and the large group ate in relative silence. Dumbledore eventually returned to the ground floor, only to say that he couldn't stay for dinner. He wore a troubled, disturbed expression, though, and his hands were shaking as he Apparated out. Sirius couldn't even imagine—what had he found out about those boys?

"So what's been going on with Voldemort?" Harry said loudly once the meal was finished, breaking Sirius out of his reverie and causing most of the rest of the table to flinch. Molly objected strongly, but Sirius, Remus, and Arthur overruled her. She settled for sending an irate Ginny upstairs with a tray for Ed and Al, and Harry didn't waste a moment in asking his questions.

It was only a couple of minutes before Ginny reappeared in the doorway, empty-handed and wearing a bewildered expression. "Their door's gone…"

"What do you mean, _gone_?" Remus asked, looking as confused as Sirius felt.

Ginny shrugged. "There's just wall where it's supposed to be. I tried yelling through it, but I didn't hear anything, so I just put the tray on the floor. Thought you should know about it."

"We'll check it out later," Sirius promised, and Molly shooed Ginny away before Harry asked any more questions. Soon, though, she seemed to think he had learned enough, and put an end to the interrogation. Sirius thought it was ridiculous—_the kids should know what's going on!—_but he was outnumbered this time.

The whole group went upstairs, and the teenagers were sent to their rooms before the adults went to investigate Ed and Al. Sure enough, a full tray of steaming dinner sat across the hall from a blank stretch of wood. The door-sized slab looked odd compared to the rest of the wallpaper-adorned hall.

"Ed? Al?" he called cautiously through the wood. "We brought dinner. You don't have to talk to us if you don't want, just thought you'd be hungry…"

There was no reply, and Sirius' limited patience was waning. "We can always blast our way through. I don't know what Dumbledore said, but you're acting like children. Just let us—"

He heard a faint crackling noise from the other side of the wall and took a quick step back. A hole appeared in the wall to reveal Al's thin face. "We do not want any," he said. The boy was clearly agitated; it looked like it took a lot of effort to speak to them civilly.

"You can't just miss dinner, you need to eat—!" Molly said worriedly from behind Sirius, but Al shook his head.

"No thank you. Leave, please."

All of the adults began to object, but there was a strange flash of blue light and the same crackling, and the hole was gone. No amount of pounding elicited a reaction; Sirius was about ready to blow the wall apart. Remus stopped him—

"If _Al_ is that upset, who knows what Ed's like? Let's let them cool down."

Sirius had to admit that he had a point. Ed's fuse was close to nonexistent, while it seemed to take quite a lot to make Al angry. But they couldn't just let them skip a meal, especially when Al was not yet fully recovered! He settled for yelling through the wall that the meal was in the hall if they wanted it, and then they retreated back downstairs.

* * *

When Sirius woke up the next day, the dinner was untouched, the door was back, and the boys were gone.

* * *

Ed was furious as he slipped out of the house early the next morning, Al right behind him. Who the hell did that bastard Dumbledore think he was? Acting as if he were in charge of everything… Ed didn't care if this _magic_ crap let him bust into people's minds; those were personal memories, things he'd rather not remember. How dare he—

"Where are we gonna go, Brother?" Al asked. He had voiced no qualms about leaving after the discussion—more like a one-sided screaming match, Ed admitted to himself—the night before, but neither of them really knew where they were. All they knew was that Amestris was _way_ too far away to return to…for now.

Ed reached into his pocket and withdrew some gold, silver, and bronze coins he had taken from a coat in the hall. "We can buy some food with this, and if worse comes to worst we can always make more gold and find a bank…"

"You stole from them?" His brother looked horrified. Apparently standard Al-ethics applied, even when dealing with lying assholes.

"I made gold from the coal in the fireplace and put it in instead," he said, waving off the accusation. "They can always just cash it in. It's just, most restaurants don't accept hunks of gold." _It's more than they deserve, anyway._

Al looked satisfied by this, so the two of them began walking slowly down the sidewalk. Ed had offered to transmute his brother some braces, or crutches, or _something_ to make walking a bit easier, but Al refused. Ed kept a vigilant eye on him, though, to make sure he wasn't getting too tired. "This world is _weird_," Al observed after a while. "It's like Central, but everything's so grimy…"

Ed looked around in the dim pre-morning light and saw that he was right. Most of the lawns were unkempt; fences were falling apart; trash littered both the street and the grass. "Maybe it's the bad part of town," he suggested, and hoped whatever direction they were walking would take them out of it. He would have no trouble beating up an attacker, but Al was a different story.

They continued for a while; sure enough, as the sun began rising, they found themselves in a much nicer neighborhood. "It's so damn _hot_ out here," Ed grumbled, cursing the need to hide his automail. Al, next to him in a t-shirt and shorts, seemed to be basking in the heat.

"It's so _nice_," he contradicted happily, turning to Ed. "Is this what Liore was like?"

"It's not quite as hot as Liore," Ed admitted. "But it'll probably get hotter…it's not even properly daytime yet."

"I wonder where we can find a restaurant…" Al looked around at the buildings lining the street. "Hopefully—" He cut himself off with a squeak as something zoomed past them on the road, quickly going up the hill and out of sight.

"The hell was that?" Ed said in surprise, looking to where it disappeared, and then back down the street. Another—thing—was coming toward them, moving much faster than any car Ed had ever seen. But that was the only thing he could come up with: somehow, these people had made automobiles that travelled at _insane _speeds.

"We'd better stay on the sidewalk, then," he said to Al, who nodded quickly.

Eventually, after another hour or two of walking, they found themselves in front of what seemed to be a sort of bustling breakfast café. Ed had no idea what it was called—it was either a very strange English word or someone's name—but the two of them slipped inside all the same. There was a line near the front; Ed and Al dutifully walked to the end of it and looked up at the menu, trying to figure out enough of the words to order.

"Wish Hermione would've taught us more of the foods…" Ed complained, squinting up at the strange font the café seemed to favor. "Damnit, did she ever teach us 'bacon and eggs?'"

"I don't think so," Al sighed. "Um…we could always just copy whatever the guy in front of us is getting and hope it's good…"

"What if it has _milk_ in it?" Ed shook his head, repulsed. "If it does, we'll just get…uh…what was the word? _Toast._ Sound good?"

When the middle-aged man in front of them ordered, Ed listened carefully to what he said; to his delight, he ordered _bacon_ and _pancakes_. When he saw the cooks behind the counter start on what looked an awful lot like bacon and flattened dough, he gave a mental cheer and walked confidently up to the register.

"What can I get for you?" The young woman behind the counter looked very bored.

"Bacon," he said cheerfully, amused that she seemed so surprised by his accent. He was fairly certain he had said the word recognizably, though, and was rewarded by her eventual nod.

"How many pieces?"

"Uh…" he shared a glance with Al, and then hoped he recalled the numbers in the right order. "Thirty!"

The vaguely startled look stuck on her face, but it wasn't total shock; Ed figured he must have gotten it right. "Anything else?"

"Water, please," Al said, and Ed agreed.

The girl nodded, handed them two small cups, and said, "That'll be eight-thirty-five."

Ed froze. He had the money, but how did their system work? He pulled out a few coins and said, "We are new…I do not know the money yet."

But the girl was looking at the coins strangely; Ed got a sinking feeling in his gut. "That isn't British money," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe you exchanged it wrong…?"

"Oh. Well…" Ed hesitated. Al had to eat _something_, and he really was getting very hungry. But what could he do? _What the hell kind of money do those bastards have?_

An elderly hand reached past him and gave some notes to the bewildered cashier. "That should cover it." Ed turned around to see an old lady in a ridiculous outfit—even by _his_ standards—standing there. "Get the boys their bacon."

The cashier nodded and handed Ed a slip of paper. "You're order number sixty-seven."

He nodded, checked the paper to make sure he had understood the number correctly, and moved to the side to let the old lady order her own food. "That was really nice of her," Al said, beaming at the boy standing next to the woman. He had dark hair, round cheeks, and looked to be about Ed's age.

"Yeah…maybe we should keep you skinny, so people will give us free food!" he joked, and Al grinned good-naturedly. They filled their cups; soon enough, their bacon was ready, and they picked a table near the front to eat at.

"What're we gonna do after this?" Al asked after a while. "I mean, obviously those people have foreign money, and Britain uses bills instead of coins. It'll be harder to forge those if we have to…"

"I'll get a job somewhere," Ed improvised. Quite honestly, he had not planned much farther than _get the hell away from those people_, but he knew they should figure out more pretty quick. "Make some gold, maybe, trade it in for cash, get an apartment somewhere until we figure out how to get—"

Al looked at him oddly for stopping in the middle of a sentence, but Ed's gaze was locked beyond him, on the group of men who had just entered the café. They were wearing strange hoods, which made it hard to make out their faces; however, they were definitely looking their way, and Ed did not miss the sticks in their hands. One aimed his right at the back of Al's head—

"GET DOWN!"

* * *

"He's _what_?" Sirius could barely believe his ears. Kingsley stood in the kitchen in front of a quarter of the Order, looking grave.

"You-Know-Who is controlling the Dementors," he repeated in his calm voice; only his face showed the worry he was clearly feeling. "Nobody's sure how he did it. But there isn't a single one in Azkaban…it's only a matter of time before he frees the prisoners as well."

"But we were so sure he wouldn't do anything so soon!" Molly said, eyes wide. "He's only been back a month! Why would he…?"

"Maybe he's trying to get his old supporters back sooner rather than later," Remus suggested, but Sirius didn't think that was all of it. _What's going on?_

"Well, he's moving much faster than anyone thought he would," Moody said briskly. "We'll just have to keep up. Should get a hold of Dumbledore when he's got a free moment, but I bet he's already heard…"

A tinny ringing came from one of the instruments scattered on the table. Moody swore, and Sirius' heart skipped a beat. "They sure aren't wasting any time, then," Remus said, stepping forward quickly to ascertain the position of the attack. His face was chalk-white. "A few miles from here, a little café called Costa's. There's at least ten Death Eaters…"

"Right, let's go. Sirius, Molly, stay here in case we need medical help. Everyone else—" Moody Disapparated with a _crack_, and the group of a dozen or so wizards followed him. Sirius was still outraged by the fact that he couldn't do any field work, but there was no time to argue that now.

A pair of footsteps stampeded down the stairs, and Sirius wondered who it was; it was still early, and most of the teenagers slept late into the morning. Hermione soon rushed in, her face pasty. "Ed and Al are gone! There was this note on the desk, it says some pretty nasty things…what happened? Does it have to do with their door last night?"

Sirius was a bit startled; he had nearly forgotten about this second crisis. As soon as he had come down from finding the boys gone, Kingsley had come and given his chilling report. But this was nearly as pressing as the café matter, and if he couldn't help with that…

"They're _gone_?" Molly asked, a horrified expression on her face. "What's the note say? Where did they go?"

The girl looked hesitant to hand the parchment over. "Ed wrote it. It's just really angry, at Dumbledore especially. I think he might have applied Sirius' lessons more than mine, if that gives you any idea…"

Sirius couldn't help but grin despite the dire situation. "Great kid. It doesn't say where they're going?"

Hermione shook her head, looking down at the parchment. "Just that they want to—uh—'get the hell away from old men who want to screw with our heads and fuck up our lives.' What'd Dumbledore do?"

Sirius shook his head. He didn't know for sure, but "screw with our heads" sounded like either an attempted _Obliviate_ or Legilimency… "We need to call Dumbledore anyway—we'll ask him about that too. Mind leaving the note down here for him to read?"

She seemed to waver for a moment before handing it over. "Find them, _please…_"

"We'll do our best, dear," Molly promised, and Hermione retreated back upstairs. Sirius unfolded the note and sighed.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

The glass behind Ed shattered as he lunged across the table, pulling Al down with him just in time. He quickly rolled to a crouch and shoved his brother behind him. "Get out of here! I'll take care of them, go—somewhere—I'll find you—"

"No!" Al yanked at the hood of Ed's coat. "I can't just leave you here—"

The two of them had to dive behind a tipped table as a jet of green light flew at them. "These guys have the same sticks as _they_ do. You're not up to full strength…at least get behind the counter or something. You can't fight yet—"

The table shattered, and Ed was up and running, pulling his brother behind him. The café was chaotic; the group in black was blocking the only visible exit, shooting off jets of light. Some people were screaming; some were bleeding; some were cowering—Ed saw someone get knocked over by green light and not get up—

"You!" he yelled in English to the old lady from the line. She was nearby, pushing her grandson toward the back of the restaurant. Al continued to protest loudly, but there was absolutely no time. These bastards were hurting people, _killing_ them…they wouldn't hesitate to murder Al…and no matter what he said, he was _not_ fast enough to fight these guys. Ed would go to hell and back before he saw his little brother fall to these bastards—"Take Al with you!" He shoved him toward the dark-haired boy. The woman shot him a surprised glance.

"You should be running too, boy. Death Eaters are far beyond you—"

_Is that what they're called?_ Ed gave himself no time to ponder this, and instead glared at Al and the boy, who was staring at him with a bewildered expression. "You let him fight, or die, and I will _kill_ you," he hissed, and dashed toward the Death Eaters—ignoring the yells from behind him.

_First things first._ He clapped his hands, slammed them to the linoleum, and erected short walls to shield all the people on the floor. He drew on the plastic as well as the wood and earth underneath; he hoped it would hold against the energy these people were producing.

He heard several surprised shouts but did not waste time responding; he vaulted over the wall and sent a row of spikes at the group. He heard at least two screams, followed by a couple of thumps, and took the few available seconds to create a wicked-looking knife out of a nearby table.

He saw jets of light coming from behind him, and he thought for one horrible seconds that someone had gotten back there to attack the rest—but one of the beams hit a Death Eater square in the face. It was odd, but Ed didn't dwell on it; he zeroed in on what he thought might be the source of their power: the sticks.

_Let's test that theory._ He dodged around the energy beams—taking them with his right arm when he couldn't get around them—and moved closer to the group. He did a quick head count: seven standing. He reached the closest—a huge man with very little neck—grinned demonically, and sliced his stick neatly in two with his knife.

He had to avoid several jets of light immediately after, but he distinctly heard the man's roar of anger. So the twigs were their weak point…good to know.

The huge man and his look-alike received heavy punches to the face, and they crumpled together like a large, ugly pile of rags. He kicked them for good measure as he sliced another stick. A friendly energy beam found its target.

_Three left._ These people really were wimps, Ed thought idly to himself as he backed up a bit, erecting several grasping hands from the ground. Two Death Eaters were caught: the man whose stick Ed had just sliced, and the guy next to him. A roundhouse kick to the face dropped a stocky man, and he stood still a moment, leering at the last one. From what he could tell, the guy was nothing short of terrified. Ed transmuted the blade of the knife into blunt metal and smashed the hapless man over the head.

He stepped back to observe his work. The only movement came from the two ensnared by the fists, but they weren't going anywhere anytime soon. He turned around to retrieve his brother and get the hell out before the police arrived, but then the temperature in the room dropped about fifty degrees. He looked around in bewilderment before his gaze landed on four tall, black, hooded—things—floating through the door, headed straight for him.

All of his energy was sapped from him at once, and he fell to his hands and knees, feeling feverish and dizzy. Memories sprang unbidden to his mind—all of the ones he would have done anything to forget—and, distantly, he heard someone screaming.

Was it him?


	7. Shadows and Nightmares

**VII**  
**Shadows and Nightmares**

Remus didn't know what he had expected to see at the café, but this certainly wasn't it.

He couldn't say what had caught his eye first…the pile of unconscious Death Eaters, the huge hands springing out of the ground, the warped floor, and the group of Dementors huddled around one certain spot all vied for his immediate attention. He supposed all of the Order members were surprised. Someone had gotten there first and took care of the—Remus took a quick head count—_nine_ Death Eaters without much apparent trouble at all!

But, there were more important things to be worrying about. As he looked again to the Dementors, he could see a weak wisp of a Patronus trying valiantly to hold them back. He quickly added his own, driving the creatures away, and he got a good look at who the Dementors had been feasting on.

"_Ed?_"

He didn't realize he had said it aloud until Arthur dashed up next to him, looking in confusion at the boy curled up on the ground. He was pale as death, with wide, unseeing eyes. Remus could see the tremors that wracked his body from ten feet away. _At least they didn't get his soul…_ But he had _never_ seen such a violent reaction to Dementors before.

There was a commotion on the other side of what Remus took to be a low room divider, and three figures shot up from behind it. "Good God, boy, speak English!" a vaguely familiar woman said in irritation. "Your brother—"

Hysterical yelling followed in a language Remus had heard before. "Al?" he asked in shock. Last he knew, the boys were barricaded in their room at Grimmauld Place. What were they doing here?

He went to Ed quickly and knelt down, trying to ascertain whether he was hurt. Aside from the aftereffects of the Dementor attack, the boy seemed unharmed. And he was the only non-Death Eater on this side of the wall…did that mean _he_ was the one…?

"Get away from him!" Al screamed in English. Remus looked up to see a boy—Neville Longbottom—restraining him with great difficulty. "Don't you dare—!"

He wrenched one arm away from Neville's grasp, quickly freed the other, and vaulted over the wall, running straight for his brother. He dropped to the ground, pushing Remus out of the way, and shook Ed, yelling desperately. The older boy did not respond. Remus tried in vain to calm Al down; he didn't even acknowledge his presence.

"Professor Lupin?" Neville's nervous voice said. He looked up from the two brothers to see the boy and his grandmother climbing over the wall carefully, not nearly as graceful as Al had been. He walked over to talk to them with one last glance at Al's terrified face. "Is that kid all right? He wouldn't let Al help and then the Dementors showed up and—"

Augusta Longbottom cut off her babbling grandson—"The boy took out almost all of them on his own. Didn't even draw a wand—I've never seen anything like it. But then the Dementors…my Patronus isn't very strong, but I was able to save his soul, yes?"

Remus nodded, glancing over to the boys. Failing at waking his brother, Al had taken to standing in front of him, shielding him from the rest of the Order members as they milled around. Some were securing the Death Eaters; some were putting the café back together; some were talking to the Muggles on the other side of the wall. Arthur was trying to reason with Al, to no great effect.

"Do you know them?" Augusta asked, looking over at the blond foreigners as well.

"A little," Remus said slowly. "They showed up at…my house a couple of weeks ago. They must have run away; last I checked, they were in their room."

"Well, the older one is an incredible wizard," the old lady said, looking impressed. "I doubt he's much older than Neville, but he did all of this without a wand. He didn't even break a sweat until those damned Dementors showed up…"

"What makes you say they're wizards?" Remus asked in surprise. As far as he knew, the boys had not said anything about magic, and had even denied its existence to Dumbledore. _But what did they do to their door last night? And all this…_

"They tried to pay for breakfast in Galleons…and what else could all this be?"

"Hey, Remus!" Arthur called from his place by Al, looking rather lost. He hurried over, followed by Augusta and Neville.

"What did you do to him?" Al demanded, his face twisted with rage. "You sent those men after us, right? And those black things when Brother beat them!"

"No, we didn't," Remus contradicted patiently. "Those were Death Eaters and Dementors. They're our enemies."

"You all have sticks!" he said, his voice rising several decibels. "You work together! And now Brother is—"

His accent was becoming more and more pronounced as he got angrier; Remus could barely understand him. "Al, calm down. We can talk about this if you want. First, we need to get Ed somewhere safe so we can bring him round—"

Al shot back with something else, but by now his speech was indecipherable. His fists clenched tighter, and his face turned even more red, though, so Remus could safely assume his tactic wasn't working. "Listen. You need to calm down. We aren't going to hurt either of you. The men that attacked are...terrorists, and we fight against them. We all have wands, but we use them for different reasons."

"Boy," Augusta butted in. Al rounded on her, the fury on his face not diminishing in the slightest. "I have a wand. You saw me helping your brother fight off the Death Eaters. Wands and magic can be used for good or bad."

"The old man is not a good one," Al ground out. Remus could still barely understand him.

"Dumbledore?" Arthur asked in surprise. "He's the _head_ of the fight against the Death Eaters. Whatever he said yesterday, he wasn't trying to hurt you."

Al snorted, shaking his head violently. "We are not going with you," he said decisively, still standing as though to protect his unconscious brother.

"What're you going to do with Ed?" Arthur asked patiently. "The Dementors did a number on him…he's not waking up any time soon without help."

"What did they do?" Al asked, his temper flaring yet again. Remus thought he detected more than a note of hysteria in his voice this time.

"They make a person relive their worst memories. You felt it, didn't you?" Remus said. Even if the Dementors were concentrating on Ed, the feeling of hopelessness and the resurgence of terrible flashbacks would have been felt throughout the café.

Al's face quickly drained of all color. "He is still…?"

"Yes, most likely, because he was nearest." Remus chanced a glance around Al at Ed's shaking form. "He's remembering them again and again."

"How do I fix it?" Al asked in horror.

Remus hesitated. "Someone can try and go into his mind and pull him out of the memories…"

"How do I do that?" the boy demanded immediately. Remus was surprised at the lack of reluctance in his tone. If Ed was reliving things horrific enough to leave him in that state, most would pause before jumping right in to save him. But Al didn't seem to be thinking in terms of whether he should do it; rather, he was thinking immediately of _how_ he would.

"You can't," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Only someone who is skilled in Legilimency can."

"Who is that?"

Remus hesitated a moment. "I know of two, but one may refuse. The other—and please don't argue—is Dumbledore."

He braced himself for the explosion, but it never came. He took a better look at Al's face and saw less fury than resigned determination. "Ask the other person first. Dumbledore would find what he wants. I do not trust him."

"I'll ask Severus," Remus promised, nodding. "We'll have to go back, though…it's safest there."

Al stiffened, but didn't argue. "Can we leave after?"

"It depends. We'll talk about it when Ed comes around, okay? We won't force you guys to stay if you don't want to, I promise."

He nodded, and Remus glanced around the café. A little more than half of it was put back together; Kingsley Apparated away, probably to get the Obliviators. Some Order members had brought the Death Eaters to the Ministry, while the rest were working on cleaning up the debris or calming hysterical Muggles. Remus wanted to ask Al how his brother had done all of that damage without a wand—and why they so vehemently denied magic when they practiced it themselves—but thought better of it…for the time being.

"Will you help me carry Brother?" Al asked, kneeling on Ed's right side and slinging an arm around his shuddering shoulders. "He is too big for me…"

(Remus thought he saw a strange sort of regret cross the boy's face…but it didn't make sense, and it didn't even matter at the moment, so he pushed it away quickly.)

Arthur immediately knelt down on the boy's other side, and the two of them lifted him off the ground. "Merlin, he's heavy!" he said in surprise, staggering under the weight. He was several inches taller than Al, which made it awkward for the two of them to carry the unconscious boy, but Al didn't look likely to give up his spot.

"That is why I need help. Where is your car?"

"We didn't come by car," Remus said in surprise. "We'll be going back by Apparition. Just hold tight to Arthur, and you'll be fine."

The red-haired man gripped Ed's far shoulder tightly. He started and looked at it in confusion, but Al cleared his throat loudly and stuck out his free arm. A moment later, the three of them were gone. Remus said his farewells to the Longbottoms and followed after them.

Al was being sick in the bushes nearby, and Arthur was sitting on the sidewalk, with Ed propped against the fence next to him. "Everyone has that reaction the first time Apparating," Remus said bracingly to Al. He patted his back, glad the boy had cut his hair short the week before. "You'll get used to it soon enough."

Apparently finished, Al stood up shakily and hobbled over to his brother. "Where is the house? The number was—" He cut himself off, but apparently not of his own free will. He tried again, but the words would not form. His brow furrowed in confusion and frustration.

"It doesn't matter. Dumbledore told you?" Remus said, and the boy nodded slowly. "Then you'll be able to get in. It's the Fidelius Charm on the house…nobody but Dumbledore can say the address." Al nodded again, but it obviously made no sense to him. The four of them entered the house without incident—Al ducked his head in the doorway for some reason—and headed toward the kitchen.

"_There_ you are!" Molly cried, rushing up to Al and his brother. "We've been so worried, you'd better not _ever_ do that again. Hermione's been beside herself—"

"Uh," Al said, eyes wide. Remus realized she had been talking very fast; Al probably had not understood most of it. "Can we put Brother down?"

"What happened?" she asked in horror as she led the way to the living room. "Is he hurt?"

"Dementors. He's having a hell of a time," Arthur explained, shaking his head as they laid him down on a couch.

"What—were you two at that café?" Molly rounded on Al, who nodded slowly.

"Brother beat all of the—Death Eaters—before the black things came. They were weak," he said shortly, sitting down next to his brother.

"Weak?" she repeated, sounding faint herself as she collapsed in a chair.

"Anyone know where Snape is?" Arthur asked the room at large. "He'll need to try to pull him back out…"

"What about Dumbledore?" Molly asked in confusion, but Al visibly bristled; she said no more on the subject.

"Snivelly's probably at Hogwarts," Sirius said from the doorway; then he looked over to Al and Ed. "You know, kid, if you're going to run away, do it properly. You don't come back after just a few hours."

Al opened his mouth, looking outraged, but Sirius' face split into a grin. "I'm just kidding. It's good you came back, really. You guys're fun to have around."

The boy flushed. Remus sent a quick Patronus message to Snape, but he didn't arrive immediately. Al looked about ready to explode from worry; several Order members had checked in from the café and Arthur had left for work before Snape finally decided to show up. "Oh Severus, thank goodness!" Molly said in relief, rushing to greet him at the doorway. "It's Ed, he's still—"

Snape silenced her with a wave of his hand as he walked over to the couch, apparently sizing the boys up. "Be careful," Al said, looking up at him. "If you have to see what he is seeing, it is bad…"

"I can assure you that I have seen worse," the man cut him off with a slight sneer. Al looked rather incredulous, but he shrugged anyway.

"Thank you."

Snape only nodded, turning to look Ed in the face. "_Legilimens!_"

Everything was silent for a few seconds. Both Snape's and Ed's faces were impassive, showing no progress. Remus began to wonder if they would have to call in Dumbledore after all…

Then, suddenly, Snape's expression transformed into one of abject horror, and he stumbled back, falling over a chair. All of the adults dashed to him; Remus wondered wildly what could terrify even the level-headed, unshakeable Potions Master. His lips were moving soundlessly, and his eyes were unfocused. _What the—_

"What did you see?" Al said loudly, eyes wide, pushing past Remus and Molly to grasp the man's shoulders. He shook him when he got no response. "What was it? Was it the Gate?"

_The gate?_ Remus had no idea what Al was talking about, but the fear in the boy's voice worried him. What did this "gate" do that terrified him so badly?

"Doors…" Snape said, his face very white. Al swore loudly—something Remus would not have thought him capable of—and released the man's shoulders, instead patting him down.

"Did it take anything? Can you see? Can you hear?"

Snape seemed to be calming down a bit, but he was obviously still shaken up. "I'm fine, boy," he said as he lifted himself into a nearby armchair. "I don't know what that was, but I'm certain I made contact with him before I was thrown out."

"So he is okay?"

"Most likely. But you two have some questions to answer once he's awake."

Al stiffened, looking around at all the adults with a guarded expression. "That depends on what the questions are."

Anything Snape planned to say in response was forgotten when Ed groaned from the couch. "Al…" The boy dashed over, and the brothers had a short conversation in Amestrian while Ed got his bearings. He scowled deeply when he looked toward the adults and realized where he was.

"We will go now," he said standing up and turning toward the exit. He swayed dangerously, though, and he had to grab Al's arm for support.

"I don't think so," Snape contradicted. "I want to know what those doors were, and what happened when you went through them."

Remus thought Ed's laugh sounded pained. "That was the Gate. And since you are not hurt, you will not worry about it."

Snape scowled. "That was you when you were younger, right?"

"Did you see someone else there?" Ed asked sarcastically. "It does not matter. If you are still all here then the Gate did nothing. It is just a memory."

"What do you mean, 'still all here?'" Molly demanded, looking almost afraid of the answer. It was Al who answered this time; he spoke in a near-monotone, as if he had heard the same thing many times before:

"To get something, you have to give something of the same value. The Gate gives you knowledge, and you pay for it."

Something in the way those two statements connected jarred Remus more than he wanted to admit. "Still all here"…"Pay for it"…

_(The possibilities are gruesome, and he automatically assumes the worst. But he can't worry about that right now.)_

"What do you mean?" Molly pressed, clearly trying her hardest not to assume the worst. "Pay for it with _what?_"

Ed gave another hollow laugh and did not answer. Instead—"I want to leave. Why are you keeping us here?"

"Because we don't know anything about you!" Snape said, wearing an intimidating scowl.

Ed responded with an even more frightening one. "We are from a different country. Edward and Alphonse Elric. Happy?"

_So that's their surname._ Remus made a mental note to check its origin or find some record of them somewhere.

"No I am not," Snape snarled. It really was incredible how easily Ed made him lose his cool…or maybe it was the "gate" they kept going on about. "That tells us nothing about you. You could be working for the Dark Lord—"

Ed snorted fantastically, a far cry from his mood just a moment before. "_Who?_"

"Voldemort," Sirius filled in. "Don't tell me you've never—"

But Ed was nearly doubled over in laughter; he had to sit back down on the couch. "Voldymort? What the hell was wrong with his parents?"

Remus thought the idea that the Elrics worked for Voldemort was rather unlikely, as the elder had beaten up a large group of his underlings…that aside, he had never seen quite that reaction to the name before. Even Muggleborns, hearing it for the first time, showed a bit more fear than _this_…_did the Dementors unhinge him?_ But Al looked immensely amused as well…

"The Dark Lord controls the Death Eaters," Snape said, looking irritated that Ed was treating the topic so lightly. "He could—"

"He has _followers_?" Ed dissolved into another fit of guffaws. "With a stupid name like Voldyfart?"

There was a collective gasp from the adults in the room. "I dunno what's wrong with your head, kid, but if I ever meet him again, I'm calling him Voldyfart," Sirius said, grinning broadly.

While, privately, Remus agreed that the look on the man's face would be quite priceless, it was far from the topic they had originally been discussing. As far as he could tell, either Edward really was ignorant, or he was an incredible actor. "Well, Severus, I think that answers _that_ question," Molly said, obviously deciding on the former. "Muggles, most likely."

"I don't know about that," Remus interjected, thinking of the extensive damage to the café. "Ed pulled off some incredible wandless magic back there…"

"Magic?" Al asked in surprise. "We are not…magicians."

"What did you do to the floor of the café, then?" Remus asked, not accusatory as much as he was curious. _What is it if it's not magic?_

"I…changed the floor to do what I wanted," Ed said, obviously evading the question as the laughter slid off his face.

"That sounds an awful lot like magic," Snape said, narrowing his eyes and glaring at the boys. "Either you start giving us some straight answers, or—"

"Would it help that I know what they did?"

Dumbledore's entrance was unexpected, but the Elrics' reaction was immediate. They both sprung to their feet and stood in identical defensive stances, wearing looks of intense dislike. "Go away, old man," Ed spat, venom lacing his words.

"Severus was very close to force-feeding you a truth serum to get answers," Dumbledore said calmly, apparently unperturbed by their hostility. (Remus thought he could see something like pity in his eyes as he looked at Al.) "I assumed you would not want your life story spilled to the world, so I decided to intervene."

Ed's scowl did not lessen in the slightest. "But you would like that, right? Bastard…"

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," Sirius said loudly. "What the hell happened between you guys last night?"

"He said we will never be able to go home," Al said, glaring at Dumbledore. "Then he asked us questions he had no business with, and when that did not work he tried to break into our heads!"

"And _then_ he said if we wanted to leave, he would make us forget everything!" Ed snarled.

Remus had to admit that that was probably a lot to spring on them all at once, but it was going to have to happen eventually. Snape was right, after all; they didn't know anything of these boys' intentions, or even why they were at Headquarters in the first place.

"I wanted to make sure you were not—" Dumbledore began, but Ed cut him off.

"—dangers. Right. Well, if we wanted to kill you, we would have done it before, not waited two weeks. Your logic does not make sense!"

"That still doesn't tell us who you are or where you're from," Snape said. "How can we possibly trust you?"

"_He_ thinks he knows where we are from," Ed jabbed a thumb in Dumbledore's direction. "He is your boss, right? Is that not good enough?"

"I don't know for sure," the old man said, shaking his head. "Jumping to the wrong conclusion in this situation would, quite possibly, be catastrophic."

"Your conclusion is right," Ed said without hesitation, scowling—if possible—even more deeply. "And I will get us home, even if _you_ say there is no way!"

Remus was getting more and more confused by the minute; Sirius, Molly, and Snape seemed no better off. With Apparition, Floo Powder, brooms—even Muggle transportation like airplanes and cars—he could not think of a reason the boys would be permanently stranded away from home. He found it even stranger that _Dumbledore_ was the one to say that none of that would work!

The three ignored the others' confusion, though, and continued their discussion as if they weren't even there. "All I meant was that when I met a man in your position, long ago, he had resigned himself to staying on this side forever."

_This side? What?_

"Someone else—?" Al started, eyes wide, but Ed talked over him loudly—

"That is who taught you Amestrian?"

"He called it Xerxesian, but yes."

"Xerxes was destroyed four hundred years ago," Ed snarled. "Your times do not make sense. You cannot know someone from Xerxes because all of them are gone."

"You two look very similar to him," Dumbledore continued on, as if Ed had not spoken, looking the boys up and down. "Your…"

Ed's face darkened, and he snapped back, "You have not said why we have to stay. We want to leave and never see you again."

"If you want to have a chance of getting home, it would be best for you to stay with us," Dumbledore replied patiently. "If you combine magic with the power you already possess, that may give you what you need."

Ed laughed humorlessly. "Alchemy sent us here. Alchemy will send us back."

_Alchemy?_ That had been nearly dead for centuries, Remus knew, and all it did was create the Philosopher's Stone. As far as he could tell, alchemy had disappeared with Flamel three years ago. So why would the Elrics…?

"We cannot do magic," Al said, shaking his head sharply. "We are not magicians. How will it help us?"

"While you may not be proper wizards, I have reason to believe you can still do magic," Dumbledore contradicted. "Your alchemy manipulates the Earth's energy?"

"Yes," Ed said slowly, looking warily up at the old man.

"So if there was a different type of energy—magical energy—available for you to use, and a wand instead of circles as a mediator, would you be able to…?"

Remus thought he knew where this was going. Anywhere magic was used on a semi-regular basis, there was residual magic floating around. If a Muggle or Squib learned how to properly harness that energy, he could do magic. It was simple enough, in theory. But apparently it was difficult—near-impossible—to learn how to properly utilize that external energy. How had these two _kids_ learned…?

"Maybe," Ed's expression was still guarded and angry. "I want to read about this _magic_ before we start anything." He spat the word as if it were something disgusting.

"Hermione probably has her old textbooks," Molly chimed in, "and there's a small library upstairs too, if you'd like."

Ed looked over to Al, and they had a short conversation in a different language. Remus thought it sounded harsher than Amestrian…one look at Dumbledore's uncomprehending face showed that he was right. _They know a language that Dumbledore doesn't?_ Who were these boys?

"We will look at your books," Ed said finally, a grudging expression on his face. "If it will be useful we will get…wands. If it is not, we will leave."

Dumbledore nodded. "I wish you luck, then."

The boys quickly retreated upstairs, stormy expressions remaining on their faces. Molly followed after them, saying she would talk to Hermione about her textbooks.

"What makes you so sure you can trust them, Headmaster?" Snape asked, looking after the boys with more than a touch of dislike.

"I know where they are from; they only want to go home. They mean us no harm unless we become a threat to their well-being."

"So why can't we just Apparate them home?" Sirius asked, his brows raised. "They can't hate magic _that_ much…"

"It will not be as simple as that," the old man cut him off. "Their home is not somewhere we can reach. I cannot explain it, as I don't understand it all myself," he added as Remus opened his mouth to demand clarification. "All I can say is that it will take a stroke of genius to get those boys home again."


	8. Fight the Darkness

**VIII**  
**Fight the Darkness**

Half an hour later found Ed and Al buried deep behind a mountain of books in the library. Armed with a "wizarding dictionary," the two of them had jumped right into the house's stock of books. Hermione had come in to say that her old books were at home, but she could get them within an hour; Ed barely realized she was there. He was too distracted by those they had already found. Some of the titles were rather suspicious—Delving into the Dark Arts and Creative Curses for the Cruel sounded less than pleasant. Sirius had explained that his parents had been interested in that kind of magic, and that they'd do best to ignore those.

Despite their searching, the boys had found very little on magic itself. There was plenty on history, spells, and the "Dark Arts," and even some on the theory behind magic itself, but there was absolutely nothing on combining it with alchemy. In fact, there was nothing on alchemy at all…

Hermione arrived with Harry and Ron after a while, all three carrying huge piles of books. Ed accepted them without a word before turning back to his book on magical theory. "You're going to get through all of these?" Harry asked, obviously skeptical. "That's a lot of books…"

Ed looked up, irritated that he had been interrupted. He had decided that the boys were not as annoying as he had first thought, but now they were wasting his precious time. "Yes. It is not that much."

Ron's and Harry's eyebrows shot up. "You can't be serious, mate," Ron said in surprise. "There's gotta be a hundred books in that pile!"

"And there are two of us. It will take only a few days."

Ron and Harry left the library quickly (Ron muttered something about "too many dusty books"), but Hermione stayed behind, hesitating in front of the table the Elrics had claimed. "Is there anything I can help you with? I've read a lot of these already…"

"Eh…yes," Al said, frowning at the first page of one of the new books, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. "How does this—uh—_Wingardium Leviosa_ make things fly?"

"Fly?" Ed said, frowning and leaning over to check. Maybe Al had misunderstood the word? There was no way anyone could levitate something…

_But Molly made all that food float…_

"_How_ does it? I'm not sure about the specifics for that particular spell," Hermione said slowly. "It's in that book Ed has, I expect. The magical energy just makes it float."

"But what is equal to floating?" Al asked, staring up at her in confusion.

"Equal to it? I don't follow…"

"Everything has a cost. You give up something to get something else. But what do you give up to make it fly?"

A vaguely surprised look crossed her face. "That's not what happens with magic. You don't have to pay anything to do spells. The magic and wand make it work."

"So magic costs nothing?" Ed demanded, standing up quickly and staring at her. "You get things out of nothing?"

"Yes," she said, apparently a bit taken aback by their reaction. "I can go get someone if you want to see…"

"Please," Al said quickly, and she hurried away. "Brother, if their magic bypasses equivalency…"

"Yeah," Ed felt a wicked grin spreading across his face, and he did nothing to stop it. "If we can fully control it and bring it to the Gate, we're good to go, huh? Maybe this is useful after all…"

Hermione returned a minute later with two identical red-haired boys. "So, Shrimp, what do you want to see?" one asked brightly, twirling his stick—_wand_—around his fingers. Ed wasn't sure what "Shrimp" meant, but thought there was a good chance that it was a crack at his height. (All those redheads were obscenely tall, after all. And he'd _grown,_ damnit!) Before he could yell any obscenities, though, Al began—

"You can make things out of air, right?"

"Sure thing!" The teenager waved his wand and said a few words Ed did not recognize. With a quiet _pop_, a large, squishy chair appeared in front of him. "Cool, huh?"

_Bingo_. Ed's grin reappeared, wider than before; next to him, Al looked just as excited. Ed couldn't _believe_ how easily the decision had been made for him. He thought he was going to have to read dozens of books to make a decision about magic, but they would be idiots to refuse it now… "That is awesome. It answers a lot of our questions. Where can we get wands?"

Hermione looked taken aback. "I thought you guys didn't trust magic…"

It was true that Ed disliked many of the people who _used_ magic. (Dumbledore and the Death Eaters were high on his list.) And, if the situation had not been so dire, he would be raging at the _idiocy_ of all of it, for how could they ignore all of science's laws? But if it got him and Al home, without having to give up any more than they already had…

"It will be useful," he said simply. "Where…?"

"Diagon Alley it is, then!" the second twin said cheerfully. "Good ol' Dumbledore decide you're wizards, then?"

"We are not. Well, we have no magic," Ed said. "But he said we can use the magic in the air, and it will be the same."

The first twin whistled appreciatively; the other and Hermione looked very taken aback. "That's supposed to be _impossible_ to do!" Hermione nearly shrieked. "How did you learn that?"

"It is what we know how to do," Al said, shrugging.

"Can we go now?" Ed asked. To be honest, he was itching to try out this magic, if only to see if they actually were capable of using it. If they weren't, then they'd have to start back at square one…which he really, _really_ hated doing.

"We can go ask Mum," the second twin said. "I'm Fred, by the way. And that's George."

Ed nodded, staring at the two of them, trying to see some way to tell them apart. He could not see any differences at all. Even their _clothes_ were identical!

Two cheeky grins later, the twins were gone with loud _cracks_. Ed was startled, but then, he figured he shouldn't be. It was probably just another bit of magic he hadn't seen yet. "How do you know who is who?" he asked Hermione after a moment, beginning to reorganize the books he and Al had spread out.

She laughed. "They really do look exactly the same. You just learn over time."

One of the boys reappeared a minute or so later, just as Ed and Al were about done stacking the books. He announced grandly that his mother would be _pleased_ to escort them to Ollivander's, if only they would grace her with their presence downstairs. Al laughed cheerily at his antics as the four of them descended the staircase, where they met a smiling Molly Weasley and a smirking Sirius Black.

"Decided pretty quickly, huh?" Sirius said, leaning back against the wall. "You seemed pretty dead-set against us two hours ago…"

"Well, making things out of nothing can be useful," Ed said, shrugging nonchalantly. "We thought we would try it."

"Mm. Well, tell us how your trip goes!"

Before the group could chat any more, Molly pushed the Elrics toward—of all things—the fireplace in the kitchen. "Uh…" Al said, looking at the empty hearth apprehensively. "Are we not going by…Apparition?"

Ed wondered what this "Apparition" was, but he was given little time to think on it. "No, we're going by the Floo. I suppose neither of you have used it before?" They shook their heads, rather at a loss. "You just throw some Floo Powder in the grate, step in, and say your destination—Diagon Alley. Be sure to say it clearly, especially with your accents…it's kind of a wild ride, but it gets you where you need to go."

Ed took a pinch of the green stuff warily, inspecting it to try and figure out what it was. It looked nothing like any element or compound he had ever seen…

"Staring at it isn't going to get you anywhere!" one of the twins called from the doorway. Ed grunted, resolved to ask someone about it later, and tossed the stuff into the fireplace. Both he and Al jumped back slightly as a green fire roared to life.

"It won't burn you," Molly assured him, so he stepped into the fireplace with only a little apprehension. The flames licked at his legs but were not uncomfortably warm.

"Diagon Alley," he said after a prompt from Molly, and then the gloomy kitchen was lost to a huge array of pictures flying around him. From what he could make out, most were of kitchens, living rooms, offices—anywhere a fireplace might be. He was just beginning to wonder how he would know when to jump out when the spinning stopped abruptly, and he fell forward onto a stone floor that was most certainly _not_ Sirius' kitchen. He hurriedly stood up and moved away as the fire flared green again, and Al appeared on the floor, his face ashen.

"Nausea's such a weird feeling," he muttered as Ed helped him up. Ed grinned and steered him aside as Molly arrived, displaying much more grace than either of the Elrics.

"Oh, good, you're both here!" she said with no small amount of relief. "We had a problem a few years ago, Harry didn't speak clearly enough and ended up a few grates down…"

She continued talking, more about "Diagon Alley" itself, as they made their way through the cramped bar. "It really is amazing, seeing it for the first time. There isn't anything like it…"

She tapped her wand on a random brick in the back alley, and—somehow—the wall moved away to show the most bizarre street Ed had ever seen. He couldn't stop looking around at everything there; even Al seemed to have forgotten his nausea and stared around in wonder. There were so many bright colors, flashes of light, and strange people that Ed didn't even want to _blink_, lest he miss something. As much as he was wary of wizards as a whole, he had to admit that they had _flair_.

"We can look around after we get your wands, if you'd like," Molly said kindly. "There's plenty to see."

She led them to a small, run-down shop down a side street, and the three of them walked in. A small wisp of a man appeared as soon as the bell sounded. "Ah, good afternoon, Mrs. Molly Weasley. Nine and a half inches, oak, dragon heartstring?"

Ed thought this the oddest way to greet someone (except for perhaps Major Armstrong's sparkles and suffocating, shirtless hugs) but did not have a chance to voice his opinion. The old man, who he assumed was Ollivander himself, was suddenly mere inches from his nose, inspecting him closely.

"What the hell?" he said loudly, stepping back a pace and glaring at the man.

"Ah, you're foreign!" Ollivander said, nodding to himself before turning away to grab—_a tape measure?_ "I was wondering why I've never seen someone like you two before."

"…Like us?" Al asked, obviously unnerved as the thing began measuring him on its own.

"Well, eyes like yours aren't very common," he said, as if it were obvious. "And your hair as well…"

"O…kay," Ed said, deciding that _this_ wizard was actually crazy. "We just want wands, so…"

"You've come to the right place! I hope you don't mind if I start with your brother." Ed shook his head soundlessly, so the old man turned to Al. "Which is your wand hand?"

"Uh…right?"

Ollivander disappeared behind the dusty shelves, returning several seconds later with an armful of boxes. "So, are these your first wands, or did you lose your previous ones?" he asked conversationally as he handed one of the wands to Al. "You're far too old to be first years…"

"Dumbledore says they're not technically wizards, but they should be able to do magic anyway," Molly chimed in. "Something about the energy in the air, I believe…"

"Oh! That changes things." Ollivander snatched the wand from Al's hand, which he had been waving around to no effect. "Narrows it down quite a bit…only phoenix feather wands can channel outside energy. Try…this one!" he picked one from the pile and handed it to Al. "Wave it, and try to collect some of the energy from the shop. I've never seen anyone so young request such a wand…"

"Yes, well, they're a bit of a special case," she said, smiling fondly at Ed and Al.

A few minutes later, Al had an eleven-inch wand made of birch. "Right, your turn, Mr…?"

"Edward Elric," Ed filled in. "And my brother is Alphonse."

"Well, Mr. Edward Elric, left or right?"

Ed hesitated before holding out his left hand. He had originally been right-handed, but before he had full control of the automail he had taught himself to write with his left. Now, it was simply easier to do things with the hand he could actually _feel_.

"If you wouldn't mind removing your gloves…?" Ollivander prompted. "Even the slightest change in measurement can throw everything off."

He pulled off the one on his left hand. "My right hand needs the glove," he said shortly, and Ollivander shrugged.

"It won't matter as much, as you're left-handed. Now, let's see what we can find…"

It took Ed a bit longer to find a wand that suited him: eight inches and maple. "That comes to four Galleons, ten Sickles, then," Ollivander said, walking over to the till. Molly pulled out a small pouch and counted out several coins.

"Wait!" Al said loudly, staring at the change in her hand. "You do not need to—!"

"You don't have any money, do you, dear?" Molly shook her head, handing the money to Ollivander. "Dumbledore gave it to me and said to use it if you decided to get wands."

_Bastard_. Unfortunately, Ed had no logical argument against that, so he couldn't say anything as the three of them left the shop, their new wands safely in their pockets.

"Where do you want to start?" Molly asked, looking up and down the crowded street. "There's lots to see, so it'd be best if…"

Ed stopped listening as a certain figure in the crowd caught his eye. The boy was simply standing there, smirking, and looking directly at him.

_No…_

But then he felt the shadows snaking up his legs to his arms, holding him in place. Molly and Al continued down the street, oblivious to his horror.

_You won't last long, Edward Elric. _The whispered Amestrian left him with no doubts._ I know where you are staying…none of you will live…_

All at once, the restraining shadows were gone; the boy's grin was lost in the crowd. Ed was paralyzed for a moment, staring at the place where the creature had been. Then—

"AL! MOLLY!"

They spun around, only a few yards away; Ed realized the whole incident had taken mere seconds. He stared at the two of them, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Ed? What is it?" Molly looked concerned, walking back toward him. Ed recognized the English, but he was far too panicked to reply properly in the right language.

"Brother?" Al tried in Amestrian, following Molly with a furrowed brow. "What's wrong?"

Even in his native tongue, Ed could only make his mouth form one word:

"_Pride._"

Al's face showed confusion for a moment before it dissolved into panic. "The Homunculus? He's _here_? But that doesn't make sense—!"

"What's wrong?" Molly sounded alarmed, and Ed turned to her, adjusting to the English as quickly as he could.

"You said the house is safe. How safe?"

"It's one of the best-protected places in the country. Nobody can see it or get in unless Dumbledore tells them the address…why, what did you—"

"We need to go back. Something happened," Al said, sticking out his arm for some reason. "Use Apparition. It is faster."

Thankfully, Molly did not argue. She took a tight hold of Al's arm and gestured for Ed's as well. She twisted, and after a claustrophobic, nauseating moment, Ed found himself crashing into the kitchen of Sirius' house. He stood up quickly and dashed up the stairs, ignoring Molly's shouts from behind him.

_Damnit, which is Hermione's?_ He looked wildly around at all the bedroom doors lining the hall…he had no idea which was hers… He eventually just ran to Ron's room, hoping she was there, or that one of the boys would know where she was.

He slammed the door open, startling both Harry and Ron. "Ed, mate, what's wrong?" Ron asked, obviously surprised by his sudden entrance.

"Where is Hermione?"

"The library, I think," he said, shrugging. "She said something about—"

But Ed did not wait to hear the rest; he turned and dashed down the hall again. He met a white-faced Al at the intersection, and, without a word, the two of them hurried to the library.

"Hermione?" he yelled in the doorway. "Hermione!"

An old woman began screaming obscenities down the hall, but Ed paid her no heed. Hermione eventually emerged from between a few bookshelves, looking concerned. "What—?"

"What do you know about Homunculi?"

"…Homunculi?" she repeated thoughtfully. "I might have come across them in a book once or twice, but I thought they were just myths…"

Ed was vaguely surprised the word was the same in both languages, but there was no time to ponder that now. "Do you know how to kill them?"

Perhaps that had been a little abrupt; Hermione's eyebrows shot up high on her forehead. "_Kill?_ They're just created humans, right? I wouldn't know how they're killed, as I've never even heard of them being _born_…"

"We met one," Ed said shortly, not caring in the least that he was being rude and that his questions were confusing Hermione a great deal. But then another thought struck him: if the Homunculi he knew were created by their Father…"What does magic have to do with them?"

"Well, their entire core is supposed to be magic," Hermione said with a shrug, obviously still confused. "It'd be their life force. But they're different from wizards—once they run out of magic, they're dead. Their supply isn't unlimited, and they can't absorb more from their surroundings."

"Are there any books on them?" Al asked, already looking at the nearby shelves.

"Maybe…they'd be considered dark creatures, I expect. I can help you look if you want…"

An hour later, the three of them were still seated around a large table nearly overflowing with books, flipping for information that one of them didn't already know. "This is stupid," Ed declared finally, slamming yet another useless book shut. Usually he wouldn't give up on research like this, but these people's "knowledge" of "Homunculi" was so off-base that it was pointless to continue. As much as he hated to ask him, the man seemed to be the most knowledgeable about this world…"Do you know when Dumbledore will be back?"

Hermione looked surprised; fortunately, she didn't press the subject. "He usually stops by once every several days, but if it's important I'm sure he'll make time for you…I can go talk to Sirius and Mrs. Weasley."

"That would be good," Ed nodded at her, so she left the library.

"Brother, what's Pride even doing here?" Al asked carefully. "I mean, he was underground with us, but…"

"Greed pushed him into the circle once I activated it," he said, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Probably thought it'd help everyone if I used up his Stone to get us back…"

"But you didn't."

"Course not. We made a promise," Ed said, shaking his head. "But now Pride's _here_, and these people don't know what they're up against!"

"Wait," Al said suddenly, his brow furrowing. "Was he hurt when you saw him? He was almost dead in Central, wasn't he? His face was falling apart…"

Ed froze. He had not even thought of that, but in Diagon Alley, Pride had been perfectly healthy. And all those deaths the Order had been talking about…"_Bastard_. He's rebuilding his stone with the people here…"

"We need to talk to Dumbledore as soon as we can," Al said, his face very pale. "If they don't know about Homunculi…and Pride's the strongest one! Did he say anything to you?"

"That he knows where we're staying, and he's going to kill everyone here," Ed growled. If Molly trusted that unwanted strangers couldn't get in the house, he trusted her. But everyone couldn't just stay in the house all the time, and, knowing Pride, he would be content to pick them off as they made themselves available.

"We need to get rid of him somehow," he growled, punching the heavy table with his right hand. He ignored the four dents his knuckles left behind and continued angrily, "The one time we need Dumbledore, and he isn't even around…"

"Let's go talk to them downstairs," Al suggested, standing up. "Maybe one of the adults knows more than Hermione." He led the way out of the library and toward the stairs, Ed following behind in a huff. They didn't have time for this! Pride was out there, _right now_, getting stronger and stronger, and there was nothing any of them could do about it…

"Oh!" Hermione's voice from in front of him stopped him abruptly. "Sirius said Dumbledore's just left for France, something about the International Confederation of Wizards. He should be back tomorrow or the day after."

Ed couldn't help but swear loudly, making Hermione jump back a bit. First, how convenient was it that there was a meeting at _just_ the time they needed him? And what the hell was France, anyway?

"He cannot come back now?" Al asked Hermione.

She shook her head. "It's been planned for months, apparently. What do you need him so badly for? Maybe someone else could—"

Ed shook his head, cutting her off. "We are all in danger if we are outside the house. Do not go onto the street. If you have to leave, use the Apparition or Floo. Something is waiting out there to kill us."

"_What?_ Ed, you're not making any—"

"I am telling the truth. It will kill anyone who comes out the front door. Tell everyone." He looked her straight in the eye, and she eventually nodded slowly.

"Okay…but the Order will want more information…"

"We will talk to Dumbledore, and he will tell them what he wants." He sincerely hoped, though, that they listened to his warning. These people had gone out of their way to house them for the past two weeks; the regular residents, at least, were very likeable people. The _last_ thing he wanted was for anyone to be eaten by Pride.

Hermione hesitated before nodding and running back downstairs. Al sighed heavily, and Ed turned down the hall again, still in a foul mood. "Might as well read those books she lent us, if we're going to learn this 'magic.' Maybe it'll help us beat him."

As he yanked the library door with his right hand, though, something popped in his shoulder, and his arm fell limp at his side. A few screws and one of the plates from his upper arm crashed to the floor. He tested it; he couldn't move his arm at all.

Well, _shit._

* * *

The day was making no sense to Sirius, and it was barely halfway over. Molly had explained what had happened in Diagon Alley, but even with Al's hurried assurance that they didn't need to worry, Sirius was still uneasy. Ed had taken out nine Death Eaters on his own that very morning; what could possibly scare him so badly?

Then Hermione came running down a second time to relay an even stranger message. "What does he mean?" Molly gasped. "Someone knows where Headquarters is?"

"He made it sound like it was a thing," she said, looking thoughtful despite her obvious terror. "And they were looking up Homunculi before…"

"So they think there's a Homunculus lying in wait outside?" Sirius nearly laughed. "Nobody's ever _actually_ created one of those…"

"Both of them looked very serious about it," she said, not cracking a smile. "Maybe that's what Ed saw in Diagon Alley. They weren't asking about it before."

Molly hesitated. "I suppose it can't hurt to have everyone Apparate right into the house for the meetings," she said finally. "Just have them arrive in the sitting room. That should be far enough away from your mother…"

Sirius nodded absentmindedly, adding this "Homunculi" situation to his long list of questions for the Elrics. It ranked right up there with "What the hell was Ed's boggart?" and "What happened to Al?"

He half-listened as Molly spoke the Patronus message to all the Order members—"As an extra security measure, please Apparate directly into the sitting room or Floo in. Do not arrive or leave by the front door, or even be seen on the street…"

Hermione wandered into the kitchen, probably to make herself some overdue lunch, and Sirius was left wondering what he could do with the rest of his day. There really was not much to do around the house…

"Sirius?" Al's voice made him turn toward the doorway in surprise. "Do you have any tools?"

"What kind of tools?" Sirius asked in surprise. Al hadn't had anything with him when he arrived, and unless Ed had something in his pocket…

"Uh…I do not know the word," Al grimaced in thought. "To fix metal things?"

"Mechanic tools? Like wrenches and screwdrivers?" he guessed, and Al shrugged.

"I do not know. If you show them to me…"

Sirius, thankfully, had saved his tools from when he owned his motorbike. He led Al quickly up to his room to confirm that was what he needed. "Yes, these would be good," Al said, nodding. "I can bring them back up when we are done."

"Do you want any help? I've got nothing better to do, and I know a bit about machinery," Sirius offered.

"I will ask Brother. It is his, so…"

The two of them walked back downstairs, and Al rapped on their bedroom door. "Brother? Sirius wants to help…is that okay?"

"If he will be useful," Ed called back through the door. Sirius head a crash, followed by what sounded like a string of curses in several different languages. Al sighed, shaking his head and smiling a bit before opening the door.

When he walked in, the first thing Sirius saw was that the desk had somehow been transformed into a large, flat work table, and metal pieces were spread out all over it. Then he noticed Ed behind it; he did not even look up from his work to greet Sirius and Al.

It struck Sirius as odd that he was wearing only a tank top. Ed seemed to wear only coats or long-sleeved shirts, even at the peak of the summer… Then, he saw something even stranger: the boy looked lop-sided. It took him a moment to realize why.

"_Holy fuck, Ed!_"

He sighed, looking up at last. "Do you have the tools?"

The toolbox clattered to the floor from Sirius' nerveless fingers. "Forget that! Where the hell did your _arm_ go?"

"It is right here," Ed frowned up at him, gesturing with his remaining hand at the metal bits spread out on the table. "I am _trying_ to fix it. It has to break _now_, of course..."

Sirius walked closer, almost in a trance. Once he looked closer, the largest bit did look like an arm—a heavy steel arm with wires everywhere. He'd never seen anything like it!

"Is it Muggle-made?" he asked, before realizing they probably didn't know what the word meant.

"Our friend Winry made it," Ed said shortly, picking up a screw and inspecting it. "She would fix this, but she is not here, so…"

"Well, what's the problem, exactly?" Sirius leaned over the table, overcoming his shock enough to try and be helpful. "Jeez, this is complicated…"

Ed nodded. "It is all beat. I am surprised that it lasted so long. I have been fighting a lot…do you have something for these?" He held up a screw.

"A screwdriver," Sirius corrected as Al walked up with the toolbox. Ed selected a head, putting a screw back in with his left hand as Al kept the arm from moving around.

"Can magic fix the dents?" he asked, gesturing to the rather battered state of the metal.

"Probably," Sirius said, drawing his wand. "I might be able to put it all back together, too, but wires and magic usually don't mix well. Plus, I have no idea how it works…I'd probably just make it worse."

"If the pieces are the right shape and all here, we will be okay."

Sirius nodded and began fixing the many dings and dents in the metal. Once that was done, with a thank-you nod from Ed, he went back to inspecting the arm. He didn't know as much about machinery as Mr. Weasley, but he liked to think he knew a fair amount. But this… "How does it work?"

"It attaches to the—ah—things that make you feel? I do not know the word…" Ed's frustration was clear on his face.

"The nerves?"

"Sure. It attaches to the nerves in my shoulder to move. I cannot feel it, but otherwise it is the same as another arm. It is very helpful. Do you not have it here?"

Sirius shook his head, rather flabbergasted by the machine—more of a work of art—in front of him. "I think the Muggles have plastic prosthetics, but _nothing_ like this…"

They were silent for a while, Ed and Al speaking Amestrian and trying to figure out the arm while Sirius took it all in. It was difficult to swallow, that Ed was actually _missing an arm_, clear up to his shoulder, and that it had been replaced by this hunk of steel. Without really thinking, he asked the obvious question—

"How did you lose your real arm?"

Both brothers froze, and Sirius knew immediately that he shouldn't have asked. Ed picked up a wrench and began to work again, but his knuckles were white, and his hand was shaking. The tense silence stretched for several seconds, and Sirius assumed he wasn't getting an answer. But could he really blame them? If _he_ had lost an arm—

"He lost it saving me," Al said quietly, startling Sirius and making Ed look up incredulously. "I would have died if he had not given it up."

"Oh," Sirius said, because what else could he say to that? The three of them lapsed into silence once more, though it was a bit more comfortable. The boy's choice of wording—"given it up"—confused Sirius a bit. But, he reminded himself, they had only been there for _two weeks._ Al's English wasn't going to be flawless, no matter how fast he learned.

"A wire is pinched!" Ed said triumphantly several minutes later, pointing inside his arm with the screwdriver. "That is why it would not move. Al, your hands are smaller—"

The boy was already in motion, grabbing pliers and reaching carefully into the guts of the arm. Sirius looked on, amazed that they could notice _anything_ out of place in the mess of wires. "Done," Al said, leaning back after a few moments. "That should work now, after we put the plates on."

Sirius watched, rather fascinated, as Ed put in the last of the screws. "Thank you for helping," Al said as Ed turned the arm over carefully, apparently checking for imperfections.

"I didn't do anything!" Sirius laughed, shaking his head. "Just fixed the dents. So…now you put it back on?" It felt very strange to speak of the kid's arm as if it were a piece of clothing, but he could think of no other way to word it.

Ed grimaced and nodded. He handed the limb to Al and pushed back the empty shoulder of his shirt. Sirius caught a glimpse of even more metal and wires, and his stomach turned over. "What's—"

"Just a minute," Al said, then turned to Ed, lining up the arm with his shoulder. "On three, okay?" Ed nodded, his eyes squeezed tight, and Sirius wondered vaguely what the big deal was. "One…two…_three!_" Al pushed the metal into place, and Sirius could have sworn he saw sparks fly. Ed twitched violently and muttered something under his breath.

"Does it work?" Sirius asked, looking at the arm curiously. It was one thing to see it laying on the desk, but it was quite another to see it attached to Ed. He thought it held a strange sort of beauty as Ed moved it up and down, flexing the fingers to test it.

"Perfect," Ed said, grinning. "You said you wanted to see the—ah—port?" He pushed the shoulder of his shirt down his arm, and Sirius got a good look at a whole lot of metal that was certainly _not_ part of the arm itself. "It holds all the nerves in place so the arm can line up right, and—"

But Sirius had just noticed something that made him physically ill. "Is that—_bolted_ to you?"

"Well, yes," he shrugged. "How else would it stay?"

"That must have hurt like _hell_…!"

"Ha. I was asleep for the bolting. But when they did the nerves, I had to be awake. _That_ is what hurts, probably more than bolting." The boy had a wicked grin on his face that Sirius found totally inappropriate for the situation.

His stomach gave another unpleasant turn. "You—"

"Yeah. But that was a long time ago. Nothing to worry about now. We will tell you if we need any more help, all right?"

It took Sirius' muddled mind a moment to absorb everything he said, but he finally nodded. "Sure. Whatever. Not that I'll be able to do much…"

Ed grinned again. "Awesome! Go to the bathroom now, you look sick. I do not want you to throw up in our room."

Sirius rolled his eyes but left for the bathroom as fast as his somersaulting guts would allow. As he leaned against the wall, willing his stomach to calm down, he realized that he left the Elrics with more questions than when they began.


	9. Tomorrow's Heroes

**IX**  
**Tomorrow's Heroes**

Hermione was very relieved when Dumbledore arrived the next day, if only so she would find out what was going on. The kitchen door had several Imperturbable Charms on it, but with any luck, Ed would be loud enough for them to hear what was going on…even without the Extendable Ears.

When she returned to the library that morning to tell the Elrics that Dumbledore had arrived, she found Ed reading at a near-blinding pace. Al was fast asleep on what looked like her first-year Potions book. "Uh…Ed," she said tentatively, knowing he hated being interrupted.

He gave no indication that he had heard her, so she tried again, louder this time, "Ed?" Still no response. Thinking of nothing else to do, she walked up and waved her hand in his line of sight, causing him to start and look up, irritation written all over his face.

"What?"

"Dumbledore's here."

Ed perked up instantly; he marked his page and turned to his brother, a rather soft expression appearing on his face. "Al," he said, shaking his brother gently. He continued in Amestrian until he finally stirred.

"Unngh…" The younger boy lifted his head from his arms blearily, looking around in confusion.

"Dumbledore's here," Hermione told him when his gaze fell on her.

"Wha…?"

"You were sleeping," Ed said, smiling and standing up. "Come on. We need to talk to the old man."

"Oh," Al said, surprise flitting across his face before he mirrored his brother. "Is it Saturday now?"

"Were you in there all night?" Hermione asked incredulously, following them toward the door. Al opened it, ducking through the doorway for some reason, and led the way downstairs.

"We do it a lot," Ed said dismissively, waving a hand. "It is not a problem."

Hermione wanted to tell them off—sleep was important; whatever they were looking up could wait for the daylight—but they surged forward, down the stairs and into the crowded kitchen. Apparently, Dumbledore had called a full Order meeting; Hermione was sure she and her friends would want to listen to this one at all costs.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" Hermione jumped in the doorway at being addressed so directly by the Headmaster. "I want you, Harry, and the Weasleys present, for at least this first part of the meeting." He ignored the indignant shouts from the adults behind him and continued, "If you wouldn't mind fetching your friends…"

"Of…of course!" Hermione recovered from her astonishment quickly and dashed upstairs. She could barely believe their luck; Dumbledore had _invited_ them to what was possibly the biggest Order meeting yet!

The dining room was crowded, but everyone managed to fit around the long table. "I asked you to come for this part because this is an issue of security," Dumbledore said, nodding to the teenagers. "Everyone who lives here should hear what they have to say."

Everyone turned expectantly to Ed and Al, who were standing in a corner, away from the wizards. "There is a Homunculus waiting to kill anyone who comes out the front door," Ed said bluntly. "He is very dangerous. No one can fight him alone."

Silence followed this proclamation for a few seconds. "Homunculi are myths, Elric," Snape said impatiently. "Whatever it is, it's probably some other magical creature, or a bluffing enemy. The Dark Lord doesn't know where this house is."

"He is not working for Voldemort," Al said, shaking his head. Many people around the table flinched, and he looked at them oddly before continuing. "He is from where we are from."

Confused murmuring broke out along the table; Hermione saw Dumbledore stiffen at Al's words. Where were they from, and why was this so dangerous…?

"I had heard that there were experiments," Dumbledore said to the Elrics. "They succeeded, then?"

Ed nodded jerkily. "There were eight. Now there are two, and one is here. We only can hope the other one is dead." He shivered, his eyes flashing with something Hermione couldn't identify. "Pride is the weaker one, but he is still very dangerous."

"How dangerous?" Moody demanded, frowning even more deeply than before. "How do you know? Are you—"

"We have fought him before," Ed said shortly, scowling at the man. "I beat ten of your enemies with no problems yesterday. It took me, Al, and many others together not to be killed by Pride."

Hermione found the idea that Al had been fighting before he had arrived to be rather preposterous. Based on the incredulous looks around the table, she was not alone in her opinion. But that didn't matter; if this creature was so much stronger than even ten Death Eaters combined…

"What's he look like?" Sirius asked finally. Hermione could tell that many Order members still didn't quite believe the story, and Hermione couldn't blame them. However, she had seen the desperation clearly on their faces the day before, and both boys were terrible liars. So unless they were being tricked…

Ed nearly smiled. "His—container—looks like a little boy. Dark hair. Maybe ten years old. What he does that is dangerous, though—_Pride_ is really the shadows. They are a shield, sword, mouth, anything."

"Mouth?" Molly asked, looking rather ill.

Al laughed humorlessly. "How else does he get energy? He eats humans, other Homunculi…the shadows are very hard to beat."

"They're just shadows. How could he—"

"They are shadows that are solid," Ed cut across Snape impatiently. "He controls them. Just hope he does not find any of you. It does not matter how good you are. Anyone will die." The dining room exploded with outraged arguments, but Ed just shook his head. "If you do not believe us, you can go outside. But do not blame me if you die."

The adults did not seem done with their questions, but apparently Ed and Al were done answering them. Ed took hold of his brother's shoulder and steered him toward the door. "Edward, Alphonse," Dumbledore called. "There is another matter I would like to discuss with you."

"What?" Ed asked, obviously irritated.

"How would you like to go to Hogwarts?"

"Where?" Ed shot back, a bewildered expression on his face.

"It is a boarding school that teaches magic. I am its headmaster," Dumbledore said, apparently ignoring the expression on the boy's face. "You could learn magic for as long as you are here, and you may even find a way home as a result."

"We just told you about a monster only _we_ know how to fight, and you want us to go to _school_?"

"I'm sure we will be fine against—Pride, did you call him?"

"You do not know anything," Ed spat. "Killing him one time is not enough. You have to kill him until his Stone is gone."

_Stone?_ What kind of stone? Hermione would have to ask them about that later, as she didn't know of anything that could give life to a Homunculus other than magical energy.

"We'll work on it," Dumbledore said, though he looked slightly more worried than before. "What do you have against attending Hogwarts? There is a very extensive library on every subject you can think of…"

Hermione saw Ed waver at the mention of books, but she knew he was far too stubborn to admit it. "We do not do school, old man. We dropped out when I was eight and have been fine."

There were several surprised whispers from around the table, and Ron whistled quietly from Hermione's left. Even if the boys were not very forthcoming with personal information, Hermione could tell that both knew quite a lot, and soaked up information like sponges. But to not have attended school for the past _seven years—_

"And anyway, you are a rebel group, right? We can fight. You know that. We can help you better than going to _school_."

"You're still _children!_" Molly's shrill voice carried over the other adults'. "We can't expect you to—"

Both Elrics stared at her flatly; Hermione found herself very glad that she was not on the receiving end. "We have fought since we were young," Ed said, shaking his head. "It is not a problem for me. And once Al is up to full strength again—"

"Al is _fourteen_," Remus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "There is no place in war for children. You boys are not soldiers!"

"We have not been children since I was _six_," Ed snarled. "You know _nothing_. I do not want to go to school. There is no reason."

"Brother," Al said quietly. Hermione had nearly forgotten he was there; he had not said a word since Dumbledore had mentioned Hogwarts. "Maybe it's not a bad idea…"

Ed looked over to his brother in surprise. He responded after a quick glance at the Order, but he spoke a distinctly Oriental language. Dumbledore's face showed no understanding of what they were saying; Hermione could barely contain her surprise. She had known the boys knew several languages, but to know one that Dumbledore didn't…?

As Ed and Al continued their conversation, ignoring their surroundings, the others in the room started talking amongst themselves. As far as Hermione could tell, most were discussing the new Homunculus problem and how to go about fixing it…

She turned her attention back to Ed and Al; from what she could tell, Al was trying to convince Ed of something. Ed was still refusing, but his conviction was obviously waning. It was amazing; the boy was so stubborn around anyone else, but his brother could change his mind very quickly.

Al's face suddenly melted into the best set of puppy-dog eyes that Hermione had ever seen. She could almost _see_ Ed's resolve crumble away; he let out a long-suffering sigh and nodded. Al's face lit up, and he turned back to the Order.

"We will go to Hogwarts!" Al said loudly, catching everyone's attention once again. "Until we find what we need, or we decide it is not useful."

"And if you have trouble with Pride, we will come back," Ed added, scowling. "Learning _magic_ is not worth people's lives." He abruptly spun around and walked out the door. Al grinned a bit sheepishly at the assembled wizards, sank into a slight bow, and hurried after his brother.

_(Why does he always duck through doorways?)_

"You all may leave now, as well," Dumbledore gestured to the teenagers. "That is all you need to know."

The six of them got up slowly, each hesitant to leave, but unwilling to argue with Dumbledore. Hermione left first, eager to find the Elrics and see if they would say any more. She explained this to her friends as they walked upstairs; they instantly agreed. The group went down to the library, where Hermione was sure the boys would be.

"So what was that about?" Ginny asked as they approached Ed and Al. They both looked up from their piles of books on a couch, apparently surprised at their sudden entrance.

"It is like I said. I left nothing out."

"Well, how about where you guys're from, then?" Fred tried. Ed's face darkened.

"Not here. You have not heard of it."

"Try us," Hermione pressed. She liked to think her knowledge of world geography was pretty good…

"Amestris," Al said resignedly, receiving a light punch in the arm from Ed. "You don't know it, right?"

Hermione racked her brain, trying to think of any reference to a country (state? city?) called Amestris, but her mind was blank. She shook her head slowly. "Where is it?"

Ed laughed hollowly. "Far away." He picked up his book again—The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 (_He already finished the first one?_)—and proceeded to ignore their presence entirely. Al sighed and picked up his book as well. He was nearly done with it, Hermione noticed. _Merlin, they read fast._

The others trickled out of the library soon after, and Hermione promised to join them after a while. But first, she wanted to make sure the Elrics didn't want any help with…whatever they were looking up this time.

Al finished his book and reached for the second-year text. "Do you need something?" he asked, looking up at her. "We are just reading all of these before school starts…"

"You're not joining as first years?" She supposed it was a stupid question; they should have been, based on their ages, fourth and fifth years. But that was _years_ of knowledge to learn!

Al frowned. "I don't know anything about years. We are going to read all your books so we are caught up…"

Hermione barely kept her mouth from falling open. "There's only a couple of weeks before school starts, and that's a lot of information…"

"It isn't that many books," he shrugged. "All of this is memory. There is nothing to understand."

That didn't seem quite fair to Hermione; there _was_ memorization involved in many classes, but that wasn't all that magic was about. "Can you tell us about Hogwarts?" Al interrupted her thoughts. "I do not know anything, or Brother…"

"Is he listening?" she asked doubtfully, looking to the older boy as she sat down in a nearby armchair. He seemed totally immersed in the book, blocking out his surroundings. Al laughed and shook his head. He reached over and pulled the book right out of Ed's grip, making him look up immediately and glare.

"What is it?"

"We should learn more about Hogwarts. Hermione will tell us," he said simply. "You were reading _all night_, Brother…"

"Fine." Ed slouched down in a huff and looked expectantly at Hermione.

She began with an abbreviated description of the castle and grounds, and then moved on to the houses. Ed stopped her, looking almost panicked—

"What happens if we're sorted into different houses?"

Hermione had to admit that it was a valid concern; the brothers had wildly different personalities. "You'll still be able to see each other whenever you want," she assured them. "Your dormitories will just be in different areas. It's not like you're kept entirely separated."

Both brothers relaxed. "When does this hat pick our house, then?" Ed asked.

"Usually it's at the opening feast, but Dumbledore might have it sort you early. You should ask—"

She was cut off abruptly by a loud squeal from Al. Both she and Ed looked over in alarm, but the boy was leaning down to grab something by his feet. Ed groaned good-naturedly when he saw what it was, but Hermione didn't know why; Al was holding Crookshanks in his lap, wearing an enormous, rather silly grin and petting him slowly.

"He's so _soft_," he breathed. Ed snorted, shaking his head and smiling a bit.

"His name is Crookshanks," Hermione said. Al's smile was infectious; it was so genuinely joyous that Hermione couldn't help but feel happy as well. "He's my cat."

"Do you mind if I pet him?" he asked, looking up at her anxiously.

She laughed. "Of course not. He seems to like you, anyway." Indeed, the cat was purring and seemed settled into Al's lap quite comfortably. "He's a great judge of character."

"He has to like Al, then," Ed said, laughing a bit. Hermione couldn't help but agree; Al was probably one of the kindest people she had ever met.

"You like cats, then?"

Al nodded quickly. "I used to bring them home from the street, but Brother never let me keep them…" Here, he shot a near-reproachful glance in Ed's direction.

Hermione wondered briefly why it was Ed, not their parents, who decided whether to keep a pet, but that sounded like a sensitive topic. "Why not? Are you allergic?"

"We had no time to take care of them," Ed said, shaking his head. "We were always travelling."

"Well, you can bring cats to Hogwarts," she said brightly, wondering more and more about what had happened in the boys' lives. "They're not terribly hard to take care of…"

Al's whole face lit up. "Brother, _please_?" he exclaimed, turning toward Ed imploringly.

"What will happen to it when we go home?" Ed asked, though Hermione could already see his resolve crumbling. "It will not make it, you know…"

Al looked so crestfallen that Hermione felt the need to stick up for him. "If it really can't go home with you, I could take it in when you leave. I'm sure Crookshanks would love a friend." She hoped the boys weren't leaving _too_ soon, though…she really did enjoy their company, even if she knew they would, inevitably, have to part.

_(But why? _She had no idea…)

He turned his puppy-dog eyes on his older brother again, and Ed seemed to waver for a moment before sighing resignedly. "Fine. You know that that face will not work forever…"

"Thank you!" The boy was positively _beaming_ now, and looked as if he would jump up and hug the both of them, if only Crookshanks were not settled on his legs. Ed grinned a bit before returning to his book, apparently done with the conversation. Al asked for more information about Hogwarts, and Hermione began describing the teachers and classes while he continued petting Crookshanks.

It was almost as if Al was in some sort of blissful trance; he seemed to be half-listening to what Hermione said, half-paying attention to the cat in his lap. She had not seen him like this since the first days that they were there. Al had seemed almost obsessed with his sense of touch then; now, he was clearly enthralled by the feel of Crookshanks' fur.

Harry and Ron returned after a while, announcing that lunch was nearly ready. Hermione and Al stood up, the younger boy setting Crookshanks down gently. The cat rubbed against his leg for a moment before leaving the library. Al pried his brother away from the books, and they followed the rest of them.

"So you like the demon cat?" Ron asked Al.

He looked shocked. "He is not a demon! He is soft, and nice, and—"

Ron snorted and shook his head, looking very amused. "An hour ago you guys were claiming to be awesome fighters, and now you're a _kitty lover_?"

"I haven't won a fight with Al," Ed said, raising an eyebrow. "He is better than me. Once he is strong again…"

Hermione found it very difficult to believe that the Elrics had ever fought, and that Al had been victorious. Molly had said that Al's muscles hadn't been used in _years_. He wasn't even fifteen; he would have been very young when he got into…that situation.

Harry was busy vocalizing those thoughts, just as Hermione was considering them. "…Everyone said you couldn't even sit up properly at first. You couldn't possibly—"

"I was in—a different situation then," Al interrupted him, an odd look on his face. "This is better. I was strong, but…" His voice trailed off, and Hermione's curiosity grew exponentially. What could possibly be worse than a situation where you barely had the strength to _move_?

Surprisingly, Dumbledore was still in the kitchen, talking with the rest of the Weasleys. "Oh, Edward, Alphonse!" he said when he noticed them, turning with a smile. "How would you like to be Sorted now?"

"Uh…okay," Ed said, glancing in confusion at the old man. "Where is the hat, then?"

"Oh, so you know about it already? It's in the sitting room. It has been decades since it last left Hogwarts, but this is a rather unique situation…"

The Elrics followed Dumbledore into the sitting room, and Hermione, Harry, and Ron trailed behind. She, personally, was quite curious about where they would end up…

Ed stepped forward, sitting down and glancing at the other teenagers before Dumbledore put the hat on his head. A huge array of expressions appeared on Ed's face—what they could see of it—as the hat talked to him. First there was surprise and suspicion, and then understanding. But it didn't stop there; as the seconds ticked by, Ed seemed to be getting more and more annoyed. Finally—

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Ron whooped; Harry looked pleased; Hermione found herself grinning. Ed stood up, a bemused expression on his face, and handed the hat to Al. He, too, looked shocked as it began talking to him. He seemed to accept the idea of a talking hat more readily than Ed, though, and listened to what it was saying. Looking progressively unhappier as time went on, he finally sighed.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Hermione saw Ed's face crumple. She knew that, despite her assurances, Ed had hoped to be placed in the same house as his brother. Al was frowning deeply as he handed the hat back to Dumbledore, and asked the old man—

"That hat…how does it have a mind?"

Hermione thought it an odd question, but it was a logical one for someone new to the wizarding world. She was also curious about the answer; her friends looked just as interested. They had all learned two years before not to trust an inanimate object with a personality, but that was exactly what the Sorting Hat was. Hermione thought it odd that she had not noticed that before.

"It is very old magic," Dumbledore said vaguely. "I do not know enough about it to say more."

"Really?" Ed said, a strange edge to his voice. "It looks like someone put a soul in that hat, and he has lived like that for a thousand years!"

Harry's and Ron's faces showed nothing but confusion, and Hermione was not much better off. Why was Ed suddenly talking about souls? Wizards, surely, knew they existed (for how else could ghosts wander throughout Hogwarts?), but only religious Muggles seemed to believe in them.

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up; a look of horror was quickly masked by interest. "You are talking about bound souls? I know it is possible—" here, his gaze flickered to Al for some reason—"but I doubt that is the case here…"

"Do you have a better explanation?" Ed shot back, turning before Dumbledore could reply and heading back toward the kitchen. Al followed him, a rather disturbed expression on his face. Hermione and her friends shared a look before returning to lunch as well.

"I thought you guys didn't believe in the soul?" she said a while later during a lull in the lunch conversation. The Elrics' reaction was immediate: Ed's head snapped to her, and Al nearly choked on his sandwich.

"I have _never_ said that," Ed said, that same edge back in his voice. Hermione couldn't quite describe it; perhaps _dangerous_ was the best word. And he only seemed to be getting angrier.

"You guys always say that there isn't a God," Harry said, glancing between them with a furrowed brow.

"Not one that should be worshipped." Hermione thought that an odd thing to say, but he continued regardless—"Religion and souls are not related."

"Sure," Ron said, obviously confused. Ed stood up suddenly, his silverware clanking.

"You would not understand!" He looked positively furious now, storming into the hall with a dark expression on his face.

Everyone turned to Al, silently demanding an explanation. "Sorry," he said after a moment. "That is an…important thing to us." He stood up, nodding to Mrs. Weasley. "Thank you for lunch." And then he was gone as well.

Mrs. Weasley stared after the boys, a very worried expression on her face. "I'm going to see if they're okay," Hermione decided immediately, standing up and pulling Harry and Ron with her.

"Why do we have to go, too?" Ron asked, looking forlornly at his half-finished ham sandwich.

"We obviously brought up something that upset Ed a lot, so we need to apologize."

Ron continued to frown, but Hermione gave him no time to argue; she yanked the boys toward the door and herded them upstairs. "Ed? Al?" she called into the library, not really expecting to hear a response. The only sounds in the large, cluttered room were coming from a few rows to the left, so Hermione tentatively stepped that way. "Guys? Are you in here?"

The three of them rounded the corner, finding the Elrics buried, yet again, behind piles of books. Al raised his head and nodded in greeting, but Ed seemed to be pointedly ignoring their presence.

"Uh…are you guys all right?" she asked, moving closer to the table. "We're really sorry for upsetting you, I just didn't realize…"

"It's—" Al began, shaking his head and waving dismissively, but Ed slammed his book down, glaring at Hermione, Ron, and Harry.

"It is _not_ okay," he said, ignoring Al's muttered pleas to calm down. "Do you not believe in the soul, then?"

"Sure, they exist," Hermione said quickly, trying to think of the best way to appease him. "I jumped to conclusions about you. I'm sorry I offended—"

"That's not the problem!" He stood up suddenly, eyes blazing. "If you think there is no soul—"

"Blimey, mate, she just said we _do!_" Ron said, looking both shocked and defensive. "But either way, I don't think what we believe has anything to do with this!"

"It does," Ed shot back. "We _know_ that everyone has a soul. If you don't think so—" he choked, apparently unable to finish his sentence. Hermione had never seen someone so angry. Ed's face was red; his fists were clenched; his furious gaze made her want to look away.

"Brother," Al said in a warning tone, standing up as well and glancing over at Hermione, Harry, and Ron. Ed didn't seem to hear him.

"Why's it such a big deal?" Harry pressed, raising an eyebrow. "It doesn't matter what we—"

"So you don't think Al exists, then?" Ed roared. Hermione had no idea what Al, specifically, had to do with the existence of souls, but thought it best not to antagonize the boy even more. "If he has no soul, then how did he—"

"_Brother!_" Al said, his voice sharper than Hermione had ever heard it. Ed stopped suddenly, apparently coming to his senses, and collapsed back into his chair. A pained expression remained on his face, though, and he snatched up his book again, ignoring the presence of Hermione and her friends.

"Sorry," Al said, a similar expression on his face. "You did nothing wrong. He just…" he trailed off, giving them a weak smile, and settled back down with his own book.

Ron seemed to want nothing more than to leave the library as fast as possible; Harry was glaring at Ed, obviously angry and mistrustful; Hermione was at an utter loss for what to do. "Is there anything we—?"

"Leave."


	10. The Abyss Stares Back

**X**  
**The Abyss Stares Back**

The next two weeks passed in a flurry of activity. From what Ed could gather, one of the highlights was something called a "hearing" for the Harry kid. He wasn't sure whether it was something to test the kid's ears, or what, but everyone was making a huge deal about it. He decided quickly that it didn't matter, and holed himself up in the library with Al.

Many of the wizards were skeptical that they could get caught up to the curriculum in only two weeks, but the "magic" books were laughably easy to understand compared to the alchemy texts back home. Ed had only refrained from saying so at Al's insistence; he had pointed out that there was no need to antagonize the people who had essentially saved their lives.

Finally, August was drawing to a close, and Ed was just finishing the books he would need for his fifth year. Al had also read the fifth year books, for lack of anything else to do, as they had nearly exhausted Sirius' library of its usefulness.

The few times Ed left the library, he saw everyone growing more and more active in anticipation of the school year. Ron was madly writing something called "homework," complaining all the way. Ed wondered if it was like his reports back home, and if so, what the big deal was. Mrs. Weasley was rushing around, trying to make sure everyone was getting ready.

She had even dragged Ed and Al back to Diagon Alley to buy "robes" and supplies, something Ed found totally unnecessary. He didn't plan on wearing any sort of uniform; he hadn't done it in the military, and he definitely wasn't going to do it now. The only highlight of the trip was letting Al pick out his cat. He insisted on looking at every one of them and petting most before he finally decided on the largest, fluffiest one in the store. All of the _wizard_ children laughed, but Ed was not going to deprive Al of feeling the cats he had loved all those years.

The two boys also returned with armfuls of cloth, strange boxes of ingredients, and their own books, all paid for by Dumbledore. Ed had noted with approval that at least Gryffindor's color was red.

The only person who seemed downright unhappy in the house was Sirius. Al had asked him why, his face drooping in concern, but he had laughed humorlessly and said that once school started, he'd be all alone in his mother's old house. Ed didn't really understand his problem—at least he had a house to live in!—but Al shot him a _look_, and he didn't question it.

September first dawned bright and early, and Ed and Al were ready to go by nine-thirty. Unfortunately, the rest of the household didn't seem to understand that trains _always_ left on time. Most of the teenagers were still scrambling around at ten-thirty, putting things together.

Ed sighed explosively and sat next to Sirius at the kitchen table. Quite honestly, he was probably Ed's favorite wizard in the whole house. Mrs. Weasley was incredibly kind and motherly, but she could be overbearing at times; Hermione—well, Hermione was a teenager, and Ed had never really figured out how _normal_ teenagers worked. He was much more comfortable around adults.

"You'll probably have fun at Hogwarts," Sirius said dully after a moment, glancing up from his coffee. "Even if you don't like magic, you'll meet new people, and learn new things…you like that, don't you?"

"I have no idea how school works. Or teenagers. Everyone will probably hate me," Ed said cheerily. The idea of being hated didn't bother him in the slightest. They were all stupid, naïve teenagers anyway, and he and Al would be leaving soon. Why bother to impress them?

Sirius shot him an odd look. "What do you mean, you don't know how teenagers work? You're one yourself, aren't you?"

"We didn't go to school, so the only other person our age we know is Winry," Al said, shrugging and leaning against the countertop.

"The girl who made…?" His gaze flickered to Ed's arm.

Ed nodded, wondering forlornly whether she would be there to greet them when they made it home. If _anyone_ would be. He shoved that thought away quickly. "We've always been around adults…"

"Well, you'll learn quickly," Sirius said confidently. "You'll get to know your roommates really well, and the rest of the people in your year. Just stay away from the Slytherins—they're _nasty_. They don't have as much of a problem with Ravenclaws, but Gryffindors are pretty much their enemies. Just watch yourselves, okay?"

Ed laughed loudly. "If a bunch of grumpy _kids_ is all we have to worry about, we'll be great!"

They sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes—Ed stole some more bacon from the undefended frying pan—until Mrs. Weasley and the six other teenagers finally crowded into the kitchen.

"I still don't see why we have to use the Floo," Ginny grumbled.

"If you want to be sliced into little pieces, you can go outside," Ed said, shrugging. "I don't think you would, though. It sounds pretty unpleasant…"

Molly shushed them, glaring for a moment at Ginny before sending them all through the Floo to "Platform 9 ¾." Al looked just as confused about the name as Ed felt, but apparently it was an actual train station; Ed arrived behind Ron on a foggy platform crammed full of people.

Ed was definitely no stranger to such circumstances; but then, Al had always been imposing enough to easily clear the way. Soon enough, though, the group of them were pushing their way through the crowd toward the "Hogwarts Express."

Ed stopped short when the train finally came into view; he heard Al gasp loudly from his right. It was much different than any they had ridden on at home; it was bright red, clean, and unbelievably sleek. Ed wondered excitedly what the inside looked like as the group hauled their luggage onto the train. It seemed as though they had arrived just in time; the clock chimed eleven, and the train began moving as Molly and various other adults called their goodbyes.

Fred and George—Ed could _almost_ tell them apart now—ran off quickly to find one of their friends, and Ron and Hermione had to go somewhere called a "prefects' compartment." This left Ed, Al, Harry, and Ginny to find seats on their own.

He quickly realized another astounding thing about this train, but Al asked about it first—"Everyone has private compartments?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, shooting them an odd look. "Gryffindors and Slytherins can't be in the same room for too long—someone'll get killed."

Ed couldn't tell if he meant that literally or figuratively, but Ginny laughed, and she didn't strike Ed as the homicidal type. "So…where do we sit, then?" he asked, deciding to ignore the topic altogether.

"Wherever we can find an empty one, I suppose. Oh, hey Neville!" Ginny called cheerfully. Ed looked to where she was waving and saw a vaguely familiar boy turning to greet them.

"Hi Harry, Ginny…" he said in reply, apparently not noticing Ed and Al at the moment. "Everywhere's full…I can't find a seat…"

"What do you mean? There's room in this one, it's only Loony Lovegood in here—"

Ed had only a moment to wonder who would ever name their child "Loony"—he wasn't totally sure what it meant, but it sure sounded ridiculous—before Neville gasped loudly, staring at him and Al. "You're—you're—"

"You know them?" Harry asked curiously as Ginny led the way into the compartment.

"He took out ten Death Eaters all on his own!" Neville cried, pointing wildly at Ed. "It was amazing! Gran hasn't stopped talking about you since—"

"You did _what_?" Ginny rounded on them with wide eyes. Harry also looked astonished, and the Loony girl looked up from her magazine curiously.

Al shifted uncomfortably, and Ed scowled, sitting down in a corner. (Cushioned seats!) "It wasn't a problem. They were very weak compared to others…" Finally, it clicked. This boy—Neville—was the one who had made sure Al hadn't helped him fight. He seized the change of subject and said—"Good thing you held Al back. I won't have to beat you up now."

"Er…it was no problem," he said, obviously confused by his reply. He looked like he wanted to discuss their fight at the café more, but then Loony made some bizarre comment Ed didn't understand. It sparked an argument with Ginny and Harry that Neville was inevitably dragged into.

The sounds and movements of the train—more muted than at home, but still present—were already lulling Ed into slumber. It was a habit he'd had since he was twelve—sleep on trains to pass the time—and the _wizards_ had said that this ride would take most of the day. He shifted into a more comfortable position (though, honestly, the seats were already unbelievably soft) and dozed off within a few minutes.

* * *

His nap was short-lived, though. A quick glance out the window told him that it couldn't have been more than a few hours before he was rudely awakened by the return of Ron and Hermione from their "prefect duties."

"What do you mean, _he took on ten Death Eaters?_"

"Don't you remember? He mentioned it during that meeting—oh, now you've woken him up," Hermione said disapprovingly, glancing apologetically over to Ed. "I'm sorry, we shouldn't have been so loud…"

"S'fine," he mumbled, glancing around the compartment. There were eight people seated there now; everyone was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder.

"But—did you really?" Ron asked eagerly. "It was before you even got a wand, right? So how—"

"They were weak. Nothing compared to what we're used to fighting." _Superhuman monsters with God complexes._ "Why is everyone making it a big deal?"

"I dunno where you come from, but a fifteen year old beating ten adults with no problem isn't common here," Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

Ed scowled around at them all. The four teenagers he knew were staring in surprise and curiosity; the Loony girl had discarded her magazine to watch the exchange with large eyes; Neville was silent, looking at him with something akin to hero worship.

(That—along with pity—was the only attitude Ed couldn't stand being directed at him.)

Al seemed to sense the warning signs, because he quickly intervened, waving a hand—"In our country, more people know how to fight. It isn't a big deal there. It's probably weird to you because you rely on magic so much."

Hermione apparently noticed Edward's darkening mood as well, for she helped Al steer the conversation into safer waters. Al seemed to be getting along well with everyone, even the strange girl—Luna. But then, that was just the way Al was. He could be friends with _anyone_, even when he was the intimidating suit of armor.

Ed, on the other hand, had absolutely no idea what to do with these people. He had learned very quickly that treating them the same as he treated Winry would get him in trouble. The way he acted around his co-workers would yield a similar reaction.

Quite simply, that was all the extended experience he had with people within the last few years.

He had no idea what to do.

Bored but not tired in the least, he finally decided to stare out the window at the passing scenery. If he stretched his imagination, the fields almost looked like those back home, in Resembool…

"Anyone want to play cards?" Ginny asked loudly after a while. Everyone but Luna and Ed agreed. The strange girl disappeared behind her—upside-down?—magazine, and Ed just wasn't in the mood. He didn't _want_ to learn a magical card game; he would be perfectly happy to mope all the way to—

"Brother!" Al whined, pulling on his sleeve. "Come on! You can't just ignore us all day!"

He grunted and finally turned toward the rest of the compartment. "I want to play poker," he said, slumping down dejectedly as the girl began passing out more than five cards.

"What's that?" Neville asked curiously, picking up his hand and looking at the cards critically. Ed mirrored him a little warily, at least happy to see that both of their worlds had the same deck of cards.

(It was weird what was the same about the two places.)

"Just a card game from home," Al said dismissively, grinning a bit. "Brother wouldn't be any good at it, anyway—he can't cheat. His fake deck isn't here."

Everyone laughed, and Ed punched his brother lightly on the arm. It was true that he didn't have his deck. It wasn't as if he was going to challenge the head Homunculus to a poker game. Winner takes all. The fate of the country would depend on whether the Homunculus caught on to the cards hidden up Ed's sleeve…

The morbid absurdity of that thought made him laugh aloud, and Al shot him an odd look before turning to the others. "What are we playing, then?"

"Exploding Snap…I don't suppose—"

But all Ed could think of when he heard "exploding snap" was a certain pyromaniac back home. Based on his badly stifled giggles, Al was thinking the same thing.

"You guys don't know how to—what's so funny?" Harry looked rather at a loss, and Ed supposed he couldn't blame him. But, he and Al had had so little to laugh about recently, and now the irony of the card game…

"Does there happen to be—uh—_fire_ involved in this game?" Ed snickered.

"A bit," Hermione shrugged. "Just when you slap the pile. It's not that big of—" But she cut herself off, looking rather lost as Ed and Al dissolved into laughter again.

"It's not _that_ weird," Ginny said defensively. "Even if you guys haven't known magic—"

"Don't get so upset. We'll play your stupid game." Ed looked down at his cards, trying to guess the point of it all. The _wizard_ children explained the game quickly; it wasn't hard to understand. All was going well until the end of the first round, when Ron slammed his hand on the pile.

_Snap._

Instinctively, Ed threw himself on the ground, waiting for the fireball to pass overhead. After a moment, though, he realized how ridiculous it must have looked to everyone else. Al was laughing heartily, and everyone else was staring, looking rather baffled, as he picked himself up off the floor.

"What the—"

"Habit," Ed said shortly, turning away from the game to stare out the window again. "Go ahead and play. I'm done."

Every so often, he had to resist the urge to dive for cover when someone won a round. Damn Mustang had ruined any sort of snaps for him.

_I wonder if he's alive._

Apparently he fell back asleep at some point, because the next thing he remembered was Al shaking him awake. "Brother, get up, we're almost there."

It was such a normal occurrence that Ed didn't think twice about it; he sat up from the window pane, stretched, and looked around the compartment. Al was wearing—robes—trimmed in blue, as was the Luna girl. The rest of the teenagers were pulling on red ones over their clothes.

"Right. How long?"

"Just a couple of minutes," Hermione said, checking her watch briefly. "You'll want to pull on your robes, too—"

"Nope," he said immediately, scowling a bit. "I'm not wearing that."

Everyone stared at him, looking rather astounded. They were like sheep, Ed decided sourly. People told them to do things, go places that made no sense, and they agreed without question.

_That's how wars begin._

Al was the only one who didn't look surprised; he only sighed and shook his head. "You won't convince him," he told Hermione. "Brother has never worn uniforms. You'll just waste your time."

Hermione glared at him disapprovingly before huffing and sitting down again. "McGonagall will make you change," she said stiffly after a few moments. "It's just robes; they're not all that different from your coat. Why's it—"

"This is a _coat_. Those are _robes_," Ed said scathingly. "I've had this for years. Why do they make you wear some stupid uniform, anyway?"

"It's just part of the school," Luna said, sounding, like always, rather breathless and far away. "I've never liked the robes either, but there's really nothing to do about it…"

Hermione opened her mouth—probably to rebuke what Luna had said and scold Ed a bit more—but she was cut off by a voice over some strange speaker system. It announced that they were just about at "Hogsmeade Station." Ed stood and stretched, walking out the door as the train slowly ground to a halt.

Hogsmeade Station, to his relief, appeared to be just like any other train station in the dark. Al caught up to him quickly, and the two of them claimed an empty carriage. It was pulled by what looked like zombie horses, but Ed decided not to question it. _With everything else in this weird place…_

Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Hermione also climbed in, but Harry and Ron seemed to be arguing about the horses outside. Specifically, whether they existed.

_Idiots._

"Come _on_," he yelled, poking his head out of the door and scowling. "It's just a couple of horses. Nothing exciting."

"You can see them?" So much relief seeped into Harry's voice that Ed sent him an odd look before replying—

"Of course I can. They're giant zombie horses. Just get in the carriage, you're wasting dinner time!"

Al laughed from behind him as he sat back down with a huff. "The food isn't going to run away…what's the rush?"

"I'm _hungry_," he whined as Harry and Ron finally climbed in, and they started moving. "It was a stupid argument—"

"Like you've never had one of those with Mustang," Al butted in airily, looking out the window to try and conceal his grin.

"Those weren't stupid!" Ed huffed, glaring at his little brother. He seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood as he began chatting animatedly with Luna about the school. Apparently she was also a fourth-year Ravenclaw, so they would be spending a lot of time together. Ed was glad that Al, at least, had met and befriended someone so easily at this damned place.

He really was cut out for social situations.

Ed was not.

He was just about to let himself be dragged into Al and Luna's conversation when his arm began itching. This would not have been great cause for concern, except it was his _right_ arm.

_The hell?_

He didn't even try scratching it, but instead began flexing his automail, trying to ascertain what exactly was wrong. It would respond, but its movements were jerky. The same itching began in his left leg, but it was only in the automail; his upper thigh was fine.

_If I fried any of the wires, I'm screwed…_ Sirius had said automail didn't exist in this world, so if his limbs gave out on him, he'd be crippled until they found their way home. _And then I'll be no help to anyone._

The sensation seemed to be spreading from his ports, where the greatest number of wires were. It intensified as they neared the castle, and Ed cursed under his breath, trying to massage them out of his leg first. If he couldn't even _walk_—

"Brother? Are you all right?" The worried tone of Al's voice made him look up quickly. He glanced around at all the curious wizards; he couldn't just reveal his automail here. The kids were excitable, and metal prostheses would definitely set them off.

"My leg's just itching pretty badly," he said casually, patting his left knee.

Al looked worried and confused for a moment before his face split into a small grin. "Maybe you're allergic to magic," he offered. "This is the place with the most magic in the world, didn't you say?" He shot Ed a significant glance before turning to Hermione.

"One of them, at least," she replied slowly. "I don't think anyone can be _allergic_ to magic—if the body ever rejected it, wizards would…"

But Ed had realized the significance of Al's glance. "_Wires and magic usually don't mix well…_" Sirius' words from weeks before returned quickly, and it was all he could do not to groan in annoyance. The amount of magic floating around Hogwarts was enough to affect his—_half-biological_—automail?

"I would go ask Madame Pomfrey, the nurse," Hermione finished saying. "She'd know the most of anybody, maybe even Dumbledore. I can take you up there after dinner if it doesn't go away."

"Thank you," Al said loudly over Ed's protests. "We would like that." Grinning in response to Ed's glare, he struck up his conversation with Luna again. He really was very cheerful; Ed hadn't seen his face so lit up with happiness since they were children. He couldn't help but feel happy as well, even as he rubbed his leg port furiously and was carried toward his imminent doom.

Finally, they arrived in front of the hugest building Ed had ever seen. _Castle_ was the only word to describe it; he counted at least seven stories, and he could barely see how wide the place was. Central Command had been the biggest building he knew of back home, but this absolutely _dwarfed_ it in comparison.

"This is a _school_?" Al asked, sounding awed as he stared up at the castle.

The wizards laughed. "I suppose it's pretty big, isn't it?" Hermione said, stepping out of the carriage and looking up at the towers and gargoyles. "It's really the only place like it…"

Ed nodded in agreement as he climbed out after her, gingerly testing his left leg's stability. It would hold his weight, but only barely. He was able to hobble along, walking as normally as he could, following Hermione and the others into a huge entry hall. They walked right through that, though, and entered an even _bigger_ hall, where five long tables had been set up.

"Ravenclaw is the second table down," Hermione explained. "Gryffindor's the fourth. Al, you should probably sit at your table, at least for tonight…"

Ed wanted very badly to yell at her—he could sit wherever he damn well pleased, thank you very much—but Luna was already dragging his brother away, waving and promising to meet up with them after the feast.

As much as he hated to admit it, the food was absolutely _delicious_. Not quite as good as Mrs. Hughes' or Winry's cooking, but it was pretty close. He tuned out Dumbledore's speech, as well as some abhorrent pink _thing's_, and finally, everyone seemed to be dispersing to their dormitories.

"Is your leg still bugging you?" Hermione asked as the group stood up from the table.

"Yeah," Ed admitted grudgingly. He was not excited at all about going to the hospital, and was even _less_ excited about showing more people his automail, but if he was going to spend any length of time at Hogwarts…

"Well, it's up on the seventh floor, but there's a secret passage in the Entrance Hall that will make the trip much shorter," she explained as they met up with Al and Luna again. Al was positively _glowing_ from the feast, and seemed, if possible, even happier than before.

"Uh…right," Ed replied, deciding not to press the subject. They parted ways with the rest of the group at an enormous stone staircase in the Entrance Hall; Hermione instead directed Ed and Al to walk right through a wall in a corner of the enormous room.

Now, Ed would put up with a lot of "magical" stuff. He would accept moving photographs, creating things out of thin air, even travelling via fireplace. He was rather skeptical, though, that the wall led to a "secret passage" that would magically land them on the seventh floor.

…_You'd think I'd learn to stop using that word. Damn wizards…_

Hermione seemed to see their hesitation, sighed, and walked right through the wall. Ed shook his head, deciding to _never_ question _anything_ magical ever again, and followed her.

He didn't find himself in a dark, steep stairwell like he had expected. Rather, he simply stepped out into another corridor, directly opposite a large set of double doors labeled "Hospital Wing."

"How—" he spluttered, moving out of the way quickly as Al arrived behind him. "You said it was on the _seventh_ floor!"

"Yep! That's what the secret passages do—teleport you around, in a way," she said, going to open one of the doors. "This one's in case someone gets hurt downstairs, I suppose. That way, the nurse can get to them faster."

He hobbled inside as fast as his shaking leg would allow, and collapsed onto the nearest bed. "So, where's this Poofy lady?"

"Madame Pomfrey," she corrected reprovingly, and proceeded to yell the name down the long, narrow room. A plump, middle-aged woman eventually emerged from an adjacent office, looking irritated as she made her way closer.

"Is someone hurt _already_? Good God, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense than—"

"Nobody's hurt," Hermione said quickly, waving her hand. "It's just, Ed seems to be allergic to magic. Is that even possible?"

"Not that I've heard of," she said, looking immediately concerned as she turned to Ed. He fought the urge to shy away; he _really_ hated hospitals. "I don't recognize you two…"

"We're new this year," Al said, smiling cheerfully. "Brother just wasn't expecting this, is all…"

"Well, what are your symptoms, exactly?" she took out her wand, but thankfully didn't cast any spells.

Ed sighed. It was now or never, he supposed. And Hermione didn't seem to have any intentions of leaving, so she'd just have to see them, too. "Actually, it's more of a mechanical problem," he said, fiddling with his right glove. "Machines aren't supposed to work here, right?"

"The magic short-circuits them, yes," the nurse said slowly, obviously confused. "What does that have to do with—"

Deciding there was nothing else for it, Ed pulled his glove off and held up his hand for them to see. Hermione screamed and stumbled back into the next bed; Pomfrey looked utterly stunned.

"Is that—a prosthetic hand?"

"Arm, technically, but yes," he shrugged off his coat and jacket, displaying the automail for all to see. "I hope there's a way to make them work properly, because they're kind of bad right now…" He flexed his fingers jerkily to prove his point.

"Wait, you said your leg…?" Hermione trailed off in horror, and Ed shrugged, pulling up his pant leg as well.

"They're both mechanical. Any chance you could make them work?"

"I'm…not sure," Pomfrey said slowly, still eying his arm curiously. "I've never heard of those before, but—"

"—probably because I'm the only person with ones like them," he butted in, feeling very irritated. If these people had _magic_ and ridiculously advanced cars, shouldn't they be able to invent—

"I'm not sure if any spell would make it better, as that's the problem in the first place," she continued, as if he had not interrupted. "I suppose I could ask Professor Flitwick to come up here; he may know some barrier charms to cast _around_ them that may help. I'm not sure we can fix the problem entirely…" she trailed off, still staring at his arm thoughtfully as she shook her head and walked back into her office.

Ed waited impatiently for a minute or so before she returned with a man who was, at best, three feet tall. Ed wondered briefly if he was all human; he didn't get the chance to ask, though. The professor walked over quickly, looking him and Al up and down.

"You two are the new foreign students, yes?" he asked. His voice was high and squeaky; it was all Ed could do not to laugh. "And, you're in my house!" he said cheerfully to Al, gesturing to his robes with a smile. "As its Head of House, I must welcome you to Ravenclaw."

"Er…thank you," Al said, pleasant surprise flitting across his face. "Do you think you can do anything for Brother's arm and leg?"

"Hmm…they're mechanical?" he turned back to Ed, inspecting his exposed arm closely. "There are wires in there that the magic interferes with, yes? So if we could somehow block the magic from coming into contact with them…"

Ed was, frankly, very glad that he was not making a big deal about his automail. Yes, they were strange; yes, it meant that he was missing half of his limbs; _no_, he didn't appreciate being gawked at. Pomfrey seemed to be trying to maintain a level of professionalism, but Hermione still wasn't over her shock.

"I've got a few spells in mind," Flicky said after a moment. "Tell me if you can move them any better after I cast them, all right?"

Ed nodded his approval, so the man raised his wand, beginning to cast some sort of enchantment. When he was done with the first one, he continued on to another, and another. Ed waited impatiently for him to finish, and when he did, he quickly flexed his limbs. The itching has definitely decreased, and he could move it more fluently than before, but it was far from perfect.

"It's better," he acknowledged, nodding to the man.

He smiled brightly. "Better enough that you'll be able to function normally, I hope? I can't think of any more good barrier charms off the top of my head, so if you need more, I'll have to look them up…"

Ed considered asking him for more, as his experimental punches with his right hand were significantly weaker than his left… But a glare from Al told him that was a Very Bad Idea.

Of course, Al hated putting people out of their way. And it wasn't as if they were going to be doing much fighting at a _school_…

"It's fine," he answered the old man, grinning a bit. "Er, thanks very much." He didn't say that phrase much, but figured that since Flicky had essentially saved his limbs…

"It wasn't a problem at all, dear boy," Flicky said, smiling brightly. "Whoever made those is brilliant. I'm not especially knowledgeable of Muggle inventions, but those are truly a work of art."

Ed smiled, genuinely this time. "I'll tell Winry that when I get the chance."

"Well, if that's all done, you three need to go to bed," the nurse said, frowning at them all. "Filius, I don't suppose you could go up to Ravenclaw Tower with…er…?"

"Alphonse," the boy supplied helpfully. "Just call me Al, please."

"So you must be Edward," Flicky (Filius?) said, turning to Ed as he stood up, testing his weight on the automail.

"Ed, yes."

"Well, Mister Ed Elric, I suppose I will see you in class," he said cheerfully, waving with Al as they left the Hospital Wing.

Ed suddenly felt very alone.

"We should head to the common room too, Ed," Hermione said after a moment, standing from her perch on a nearby bed. She seemed to be over her shock a bit, but she kept shooting furtive glances at his arm as he slid his clothes and gloves back on. "It's late, and we've got classes starting at nine o'clock tomorrow…"

He grunted, nodded to Madame Pomfrey, and allowed himself to be led out into the corridors. They walked in silence, Hermione leading the way as Ed made a mental map of the school. He'd have to ask someone to show him around later…

Hermione stopped suddenly in the middle of a hallway, and Ed nearly ran into her. "What the—"

"This is the entrance to Gryffindor Tower," she gestured to a portrait of an enormous woman in an unflattering pink dress.

"Are you new, dearie?" the woman asked; Ed nearly fell over from shock. He knew pictures could move, but they could _talk_ as well?

"Yes, he's a new fifth year," Hermione said brightly, and then turned back to Ed. "We have to give the Fat Lady a password to get into the common room. Right now it's _Mimbulus Mimbletonia._"

_The hell?_ He turned the syllables over in his mind, trying to make sense of them. He didn't know _all_ of the English words, but he had never heard anything even close to it! "Mimbulus Mimbletonia?" he said, reasonably certain it was correct.

"You're foreign?" the Fat Lady asked, her face lighting up in interest. "There were those visitors last year, but there haven't been any foreign students since—"

"Yes, I'm foreign," Ed said, his temper spiking. Seriously, had these people never heard of moving? (_Even if that's not the case for us…_) "Was that the password?"

"Oh, yes," she said, as if she had forgotten; by some invisible force, the picture frame swung open, revealing a circular opening. Shaking his head but deciding not to question it, Ed climbed through into an enormous, cozy living room of sorts adorned in scarlet and gold.

"The boys' rooms are over there," Hermione pointed to a staircase on the right. "Your room will be on the top floor."

Ed grunted and turned to walk up the stairs. "Night!" Hermione called after him. He only waved over his shoulder in response.

He soon found himself in a huge room with six beds and five other boys. He already knew Harry, Ron, and Neville, and there was also a boy with freckles all over his face and one with very dark skin.

"You're Ed, then?" Freckles asked, not sounding especially friendly. Harry and Ron were sitting far away from the kid, shooting him dirty looks; obviously there had been some sort of fight.

"Yeah. Who're you?"

"Seamus Finnigan. That's Dean Thomas," Freckles said, jerking a thumb toward the dark-skinned kid. "And apparently you know everyone else. Do you believe Potter, then?"

"What am I supposed to believe?" Ed raised an eyebrow. "I got to this country a month and a half ago. Barely know the kid."

"You have to have heard of You-Know-Who!" Seamus blurted out, looking shocked. "Potter's saying he's back, but it's a bunch of—"

"You-Know-Who?" It took a moment for Ed to realize that he did, indeed, know who. "You mean Voldemort? Well, yeah, I've got good reason to think he's alive. Why?"

Seamus sighed explosively and turned away. "You too? Stupid old man's corrupting everyone…"

"Dumbledore? He's a manipulative bastard. I came to my own conclusion. If you can pass off all those deaths in the paper as nothing, then you're an _idiot_." He spun around and walked back to his bed.

"Those are just isolated attacks, though, aren't they?" Seamus said, sounding very irritated. Ed felt a hand on his elbow, and, with great difficulty, resisted the urge to throw the scrawny kid across the room. "And anyhow, there aren't that many, and they're all spread—"

Ed gave into his instincts, and Seamus was flying into a bed on the other side of the dorm.

The only sounds in the room were Seamus' groans as he tried to pick himself up, until Dean overcame his shock to yell angrily, "_What the hell was that?_ Totally uncalled for—"

"Those are _people_ you're talking about," Ed hissed, furious beyond reason. He had expected the other wizard children to be stupid, but _this—_"Even if only a few people are killed, _they're still people_. I don't know what kind of sheltered lives you idiots have led, but the world isn't as nice as you'd like it to be. Grow. Up." He stomped the rest of the way to his bed and climbed in, only bothering to kick off his boots.

Nobody else said a word.

* * *

_Bitch._

That was Ed's first thought when the pink monstrosity walked into the classroom. It was only his first class at Hogwarts, but he was supremely unimpressed so far.

Hermione was on his left, and Harry and Ron were at the table in front of them; all had pulled out their wands, books, quills, and parchment. Ed wasn't sure why. Surely, they had all read the book before class? Why would they need it now except for reference?

Bitch went on some sort of spiel about her class, and Ed listened long enough to learn that she wouldn't actually be doing anything as a teacher. Apparently, they would only be learning theory from a book.

Theory was all well and good, but it was utterly useless without practical application. He decided to say so.

"Raise your hand, Mister…?"

_Raise my hand? _"Why the hell should I do that? I'm pointing something out that is entirely relevant to this class. What's the point of teaching it if we're not going to learn anything useful?"

"Your _hand_, Mister…" she seemed irritated that she did not know his name, and he took great pleasure in _not_ telling her.

"Why am I wasting my time sitting here if I already understand the theory? I can think of _tons_ of stuff I'd rather be doing—"

He was pleased to see that many of his classmates were nodding; at least they weren't all _total_ idiots. Harry shot his hand into the air—_huh, that must have been what she meant_—and said, "Ed's got a point. Are _you _actually going to be teaching anything? Or is it all from the book?"

_Idiot!_ Potter had ruined his fun; Bitch had a name to call him now. But the look the woman sent his way was far too triumphant for such a petty victory. "Well, despite what your _fellow student_ says, this is the Ministry-approved method, and we will follow it. Kindly open to chapter one and read it for the rest of class."

Ed grabbed his bag and headed for the door. "Where do you think you're going, Mister Elric?" the disgusting woman asked from behind him.

_Hang on—when did anyone tell her my last name?_

"I've already read the first chapter. The whole book, actually. I was under the impression that that's how school works. I've done what you've asked, so I can just leave now, right?"

The rest of the students were staring at him with a mixture of awe and surprise. _Whoops, maybe this isn't how it goes._

Oh well.

"Elric—!" But Ed slammed the door behind him, heading upstairs to the dorms. _Two hours until lunch…_ He could definitely fit a nap in if he tried.

* * *

"What did you think you were _doing_?" Hermione screeched during lunch. Ed winced; she and Winry were remarkably similar when it came to screaming. At least Hermione didn't carry a wrench around in her bag.

"I didn't see a point in staying. I had already read the book, so I left," he said nonchalantly, reaching for a bowl of stew.

"_Brother!_" Al said, slapping his hand away. "Even _you_ should know not to do that! Mom always used to yell at us for skipping—"

"Yeah, yeah," he waved the worry aside and made a second try for the stew. "You haven't been in Bitch's class, Al. It's horrible. Even _you_ wouldn't be able to stand it."

"But—"

"Mister Elric?"

Ed grimaced dramatically before turning to Bitch. "What?"

"I need a word with you." She was certainly trying to sound kind, but Ed had spent one too many years around Mustang. It wasn't a suggestion. He waved quickly to Al and the others—all of whom looked very worried—before following her to a corner of the Great Hall.

"First, what are you doing out of uniform?" The sweet façade was still up; Ed kind of wanted to puke.

"I don't want to wear the robes," he shot back. "There's no point to wearing a uniform. Next question."

She glared at him, dropping the fake face entirely. Ed was almost relieved. "I have it on good information that you destroyed a café in London at the beginning of August, and—"

"Wha—" Ed had been expecting anything but that. _Where's she going with this?_ "A bunch of Death Eaters showed up and started killing people! I was defending them!"

"With a strange branch of magic that nobody has seen before," she said, her voice reduced to a hiss. "The Ministry doesn't like to be uninformed, you see, so if you would be so kind as to tell us about—"

"No," he said firmly. His temper was rising quickly, and as appealing as the thought was, he thought it would be a very bad idea to punch a professor. Especially one sent by the Ministry. "I'm not telling you one bit. I don't like to associate with idiots, you see, so if you would be so kind as to _get the hell away from me…_"

Her only response was to gape rather stupidly at him, so Ed turned on his heel and returned to his brother without a second thought.

_What a terrible day…_

* * *

_Father—_

_Edward Elric is at Hogwarts, among the Gryffindor fifth years. There is also a fourth-year Ravenclaw named Alphonse Elric._

_Do I have any further orders?_


	11. The Cradle Will Fall

**XI**  
**The Cradle Will Fall**

Minerva McGonagall's first class after lunch consisted of fifth-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. She had nearly forgotten that it would include the new foreigner, Edward Elric; she was quickly reminded, though, when he burst in with Granger, Potter, and Weasley, complaining loudly about "that pink bitch." She had to suppress a very unprofessional smirk; at least he wasn't stupid.

The second thing she noticed was that he was decidedly out of uniform. A bright red coat, huge boots, and—_leather pants?_ She hadn't seen those since Sirius Black was young, and even then, they had been both strange and disturbing.

Elric had an air of someone who had absolutely no idea of what was going on but was doing his best to hide it. She had to admit that he was succeeding admirably; he was acting raucously enough to rival the Weasley twins as he sat at a desk next to Granger, still complaining about Umbridge. Nevertheless, his outfit…she could see many of the girls eyeing him with something bordering on lust. She had to admit that he _was_ rather handsome, but his pants certainly weren't helping the situation.

"Mister Elric! What are you doing out of uniform?" she asked, catching most of the students' attention.

He sighed loudly. "I don't want to wear your stupid robes. What's the point? I can learn just as well in _my_ clothes."

"Nevertheless, as a student here, it's required that you wear your robes," she said, mentally raising an eyebrow. She supposed that she should have expected a "devil-may-care" attitude; the few times they had met at Headquarters, he had made his independence quite clear. "If you don't, I will take points from Gryffindor and give you detention."

Seamus Finnigan groaned loudly, glaring at Elric. "Uh, right," the blonde shrugged. He sounded as if it simply didn't bother him, but Minerva had been reading students' expressions for fifty years. She knew when they had no idea what was going on.

"We will discuss this after class," she said shortly, just as the bell rang. He only shrugged again, watching his classmates with a curious expression as they snapped to attention.

Class began normally enough; Minerva started off by lecturing about the O.W.L.s they would be taking at the end of the year, and then she continued onto the lesson. It was over changing small vertebrate animals into rigid objects; the theory was easy enough to understand, but often, people struggled with the application. The incantation and wand movement were both rather complicated, and she went over them several times to make sure everyone copied them down correctly.

"Are there any questions?" she asked half an hour later, once the lecture was over. Many people shifted in their seats, obviously confused but unwilling to speak up.

"I have a question," Elric's accented voice asked from the front row. A badly concealed expression of alarm adorned his face. "How can you change an animal into a thing without hurting it?"

Minerva was rather surprised. That was a common question among her kind-hearted first years, but the older students readily accepted it. _But he and Alphonse are new to magic, aren't they?_ "I can assure you that the mouse is not harmed," she said picking one up and changing it into a wooden spoon. Elric flinched visibly, but looked on in obvious awe as she turned it back into a mouse. It scurried across the desk as if nothing had happened. "If you have more questions about the nature of magic, we can discuss them after class."

"Right," he said, slumping back in his seat. That was when she noticed something else—

"Have you not been taking notes, Mister Elric?"

There were a few gasps from around the classroom; Minerva was glad she had ingrained in the rest of her students the importance of writing everything down. She'd just have to teach Elric as well…

"Taking notes?" Confusion was written all over his face; it was obvious he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

"You're supposed to write down the lecture for reference later, when you complete your homework or study for tests," she said patiently, inwardly wondering at how ignorant the boy was. She knew that he had not been to school for the past few years, but—

"I'll just remember it all," he said, sending her an incredulous look. "Why should I bother writing it down when it's so easy to remember?"

More gasps came up from his classmates, but he ignored them, staring at her, expecting an answer. Minerva had not experienced such arrogance since those four Marauders twenty years ago. "You may be able to remember it for the short term, but you will regret not having notes when you're studying for an exam," she said.

He scowled deeply. "Give me a mouse."

She sighed and picked up the large box on her desk. She _was _going to pass them out if there were no more questions…the boy was incredibly impatient. She went up the room, passing out mice for the students to practice with. Most of them knew not to begin until everyone was ready and she was at the front again to supervise. But then, Elric didn't seem to know how to be a proper student.

"This is right, isn't it?"

Minerva spun around from her position only three desks behind him. Elric was holding up a wooden spoon, one eyebrow raised expectantly. She stared a moment before setting the box down on Parvati Patil's desk, turning to inspect the spoon.

"Yes, this is a perfect transfiguration," she admitted after a moment, handing it back to him. Everyone started whispering behind her, and Minerva couldn't really blame them. In order to properly change it, he would have to fully understand the makeup of both the mouse and spoon, and focus on changing it while casting the spell correctly.

Quite frankly, she had expected very few people to succeed today. Wednesday's class was also dedicated to practicing…

He smirked for a moment before casting the spell again, changing it back into a mouse with absolutely no effort. He watching it run around his desk as Minerva returned to passing out mice to the rest of the class. As she turned away, she thought she heard—

"If only we had this two years ago…"

* * *

The rest of the students performed as Minerva had expected; Hermione Granger and Ernie Macmillan eventually also completed successful transfigurations, but it was near the end of class, and it took them quite a lot of effort. Honestly, she had never had a student who took so naturally to Transfiguration. Especially one who had started studying magic—what—two weeks ago?

"Mister Elric, a word?" she called as the dismissal bell rang.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand as he picked up his bag, said something quickly to Granger, and walked to Minerva. "What is it? You can skip the lecture about my clothes, because I'm not changing."

She was struck silent for a moment by his utter lack of respect for her authority. Surely it was natural to treat those who were older and in a position of power—? "And I still want to know how it's possible to change an animal into a spoon," he continued, an odd expression on his face. Pain? Regret?

"You just can," she shrugged. "I know it might be hard for you to swallow, but magic just allows that. You can even change yourself into an animal, if you wish."

"_What?_" His tone was one step from hysterical, but Minerva couldn't think of why.

"It takes several months—even years—of study, but some people can turn themselves into animals at will."

"But—how—"

Deciding it would be easiest just to show him, Minerva focused on her cat form, quickly turning into the familiar tabby. Elric gasped loudly. "That doesn't hurt you at all? You can change back? But—"

She transformed again to address the boy. "I assure you, as long as you are trained properly, the transformation is nearly risk-free."

"And your mind is intact? And your soul? Can you speak? Are you totally cat? Or—"

"I simply change my form. I cannot speak, but everything else is just the same. It's very useful, depending on what your animal turns out to be." She paused, seeing his stricken expression. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "At home—it's not reversible. If you combine a person and an animal—they're stuck. In pain. Shipped off to the lab. If we had magic there…"

"How did that happen if you didn't have magic?" she asked, genuinely curious. She wasn't an expert in Muggle science, but she didn't think they had anything close to Transfiguration…

He stared at her a moment, as if trying to remember something. "What did you think of Molly's stew on Saturday?" he asked finally. The non sequitur threw her off for a moment, but then she realized how odd it _really_ was.

Molly had invited the Order over for dinner to kick off the school year, and Minerva _specifically_ remembered eating turkey and mashed potatoes.

"Molly didn't serve stew," she said slowly, wondering what the point of the exchange was. "We had turkey and ham…"

He flashed her a toothy grin. "It's called alchemy." Without another word, he turned and left the classroom.

_He was testing me!_ Trick security questions… She'd have to run that by Albus. Despite how much of a pain in the ass he was, Edward Elric was quite obviously brilliant.

She sat heavily in her chair, already exhausted. She glanced at her schedule: fourth year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were due to arrive in ten minutes. She didn't think much of it until a certain name on the roster caught her eye.

_Alphonse Elric._

She groaned and leaned back in her chair. Hopefully, the younger brother wouldn't be quite as tiring as Edward…

* * *

Hermione didn't think she had ever met anyone so ill-suited for school before. Sure, there were people like Ron, who complained about the work and dreaded every class. There were even those like Crabbe and Goyle, who barely knew the business end of a wand from the other.

But she was pretty sure the Elrics beat them all.

It wasn't that they were slow; on the contrary, their intelligence levels were bordering on ridiculous. Even _she_ felt inferior while sitting next to Edward in class.

It was more that the idea of _school_ seemed utterly foreign to them. Sure, they had mentioned that they hadn't been in seven or eight years, but surely even _primary school_ should have taught such basic things as respecting the teacher and raising your hand to speak?

"I still don't understand how you got out of going to school for so long," Ron said incredulously a few days later in the common room. He and Ed were sprawled all over the two nearby couches, leaving everyone else to find a seat on a chair or the floor.

"We lived in a small town. The school was too slow for us," Al said, shrugging. "We dropped out and learned from Teacher for a year instead."

The way he pronounced the title, and the way both Elrics shivered violently, piqued Hermione's interest. "So you were privately tutored? That's pretty similar to regular school, isn't it? You should at least know what homework and taking notes are…"

"Teacher was pretty hands-on," Ed said, grinning fondly despite the terror still clear on his face. "Beat the shit out of us sometimes, but we learned that way, yeah? The way you guys learn here, you'll never remember anything well."

"She _beat_ you?" Harry asked, his eyes growing very wide. Hermione knew hers were the same. If anything, this _Teacher_ seemed to be the only person the Elrics truly respected. But why, if—?

"To train the mind, first train the body," Ed said, shrugging. "She taught us nearly everything we know about fighting. Don't know how many times it's saved our lives…" he glanced down at Al, who was propped against his couch.

The younger boy shrugged, petting his cat absent-mindedly. "She's the scariest lady I've ever met, but she was like a mother to us. I hope she's okay…" he trailed off, his face drooping in worry.

Hermione felt the urge to steer the conversation away from what was obviously an upsetting topic before Harry or Ron could ask an insensitive question. "Ed, you know McGonagall will keep her word about the house points and detention if you don't wear the uniform. If she keeps docking points, the rest of the Gryffindors won't like you much, and detention cuts into your free time…"

"I don't care about some stupid little competition," he said dismissively. "And I don't even know what detention _is_, so it can't be that big of a deal, right?"

"It's terrible!" Ron butted in, an incredulous look on his face. "You have to sit and clean things for _hours_, or write lines, or some other ungodly thing—"

"What's that supposed to do?" Ed asked, also looking incredulous. "Bore you to death? It doesn't even do anything—they can just clean it with magic, right?"

"It's a punishment," Hermione said, sighing. Seriously, did he know _nothing_ of normal life? "It's a deterrent so you won't do it again."

"I'll do whatever I want! The stupid _teachers_ here won't stop me," Ed grumbled, standing up suddenly. "Where's that library Dumbles promised us?"

"I'll show you there," Hermione volunteered, standing up as well and heading for the portrait hole. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised; after all, they had made it abundantly clear that they were only at Hogwarts for its massive collection of books. Harry and Ron didn't join them; Harry had a detention with Umbridge, and Ron had apparently planned a nap before dinner.

"Hey, Neville!" she said in surprise. He was climbing into the common room just as they were leaving.

"Hermione! I was looking for you," he said, relief washing over his face. "I didn't follow a word of Professor McGonagall's lecture on Monday, I was wondering if you could help me, if you had time…"

"We were just on our way to the library!" she said cheerfully. "You can come with us—maybe Ed can help too. He was much better at it than me…"

"Yeah, you weren't even trying!" Neville turned his attention to Ed, an awed expression on his face. "That was amazing! I wish I were as smart as you…"

Ed waved a hand, his expression a strange combination of pleased, confused, and annoyed. "It was just understanding what they were made of and saying a few funny words. I've done that since I was little. It was easy."

"Could you help me? Just a little bit? I'd really appreciate it!" Neville's whole face was lit up with hope, an expression Hermione rarely saw the reserved boy wear.

Ed looked ready to object, but Al poked him in the ribs. "Go ahead and help him, Brother. Hermione and I will look for books, and then we can all sit together, right?"

He harrumphed and nodded. Neville looked a bit nervous about Ed's sudden bad mood, but Al grinned and patted his arm. "He's always grumpy. It's not you, I promise."

Neville didn't seem calmed by his assurances, though, and said, "Ed, if you don't want to, it's fine, I can ask one of the Ravenclaws or—"

"Hm? No, it's fine," Ed said quickly. "It shouldn't take too long, and if you stick around we can bounce ideas off you, too."

"You can try…" he said, obviously confused. "I don't know what I could do to help, though…"

"We'll see when we get there," Ed said, waving a hand as they arrived at the library. They split into two groups, Hermione leading Al to the books on magical runes as Ed and Neville wandered to a table near the Transfiguration section.

"What do you guys need runes for, anyway?" she asked as she pulled a few promising books from the shelves. "You're already in the class…isn't that enough?"

"Just a project we're working on," he said vaguely. "The foundation of magic is doing the impossible, right? So runes based in that would be useful for anything."

"Mm, I suppose," she agreed, wondering what they would need them for outside of spells. But she pushed that aside as she realized that this was the perfect opportunity to ask…"You know, I've been wondering. Ed's arm and leg…what happened to his real ones?" Al immediately stiffened, and she continued hastily—"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. It's just so terrible. It must have been horribly painful…I can't even imagine…"

"Yes," he said after a moment, not facing her. "It was an accident when we were younger. But Brother doesn't like to talk about it."

"Of course…" She thought that if she was missing two limbs, she wouldn't be too keen on discussing it, either. "It's just, we know almost nothing about you two. We've all been spending practically every day together, but…it's just very odd. I'm curious. We all are." Honestly, she had been hoping to catch Al on his own at some point to ask him about this. She was sure Ed would act defensively, even violently; Al was much more patient and likely to refuse her kindly, if he did refuse her at all.

He was silent for a few seconds, glancing over the book titles in front of him. "There isn't anything to know about us. We just want to get home. People need us there."

Hermione was hurt that they only seemed to see her—and the wizarding world in general—as a means to an end. Even if they had family and friends at home waiting for them, they had her, Harry, Ron, and everyone else _here_. They shouldn't just write them off—

Before she could say anything, though, Al announced that they had enough books to start off with, and made his way back to Ed's table. Hermione followed behind him, a little put off.

Edward had somehow made a wooden spoon out of the table, and was explaining—as patiently as he could, it seemed—how to properly focus on the components of the mouse and spoon. He was failing spectacularly; even _Hermione_ was having trouble keeping up with what he was saying.

"You just—the spoon is oak, see?" Ed said loudly, waving the utensil above his head. "And the mouse is skin, and muscle, and fur, and blood—"

"Brother, you're a terrible teacher," Al said as greeting, sitting down on Ed's other side. "Not everyone is a genius like you."

"No, it's not that," Neville said, his red face averted. "I'm just dumb. You're explaining it fine. I'm really just useless…"

Hermione opened her mouth quickly to object, but Al beat her to it. "We know a girl who used to think the same way, back home," he chuckled. "I promise that you're not useless, or weak, or any of those other terrible things. You're a Gryffindor, right?"

Neville nodded hesitantly. "Just because—"

"So that hat thought you were brave enough to be in that house, yeah? And don't even get me started on the café…" he laughed outright this time, and Hermione leaned a bit closer, listening intently. She had never heard the whole story, so maybe if they…

"You held me back even when I was ready to kill you so I could help Brother. And you saw him fighting, right? I'm even better than him. That's impressive, to be able to restrain me, isn't it?"

"You were so thin, though…" he trailed off. "It wasn't that great of a thing."

"See, you're humble, too!" Ed said loudly, thwacking him on the head lightly with the spoon. "You're a good person, right? Think better of yourself."

"Uh—" Neville's eyes were very wide now, and he looked to Hermione for help.

"They're right, you know," she said, shrugging. "I've always admired you, ever since first year. You should stop putting yourself down."

"…Uh…right," he said slowly. "So, since Ed's teaching doesn't make sense…?"

"I'll help you!" Hermione finished brightly, reaching for the spoon and pulling out her notes.

"Still don't see the point of writing down such easy stuff," Ed grumbled, looking across the table at her notes. "Hang on—you don't code them?" he snatched them from her grasp, glancing over the neat rows incredulously.

"…Should I?" Hermione had never heard of anyone coding class notes. In fact, she had only very rarely heard of anyone coding _anything_.

He huffed and shoved the papers back at her. "Not if you're just writing down exactly what the teacher said. I thought we were supposed to come up with our own theories. That's what I did for the spoon…"

Hermione was, for once, struck dumb. Ed—someone who had started studying magic less than a month ago—was already developing his own _magical theory?_

"Mister Elric!"

All four flinched before turning to Umbridge, who was standing next to them with a smug expression. "You're still not in uniform…"

"I don't intend to change that," he said lazily, turning back to the table. "I'm helping Neville with our Transfiguration lesson, so if you would just _go away_—"

It was a testament to how _abhorrent_ Umbridge was that Al didn't rebuke his brother's rudeness. "I'm afraid I can't do that," she said with a little fake cough. Ed looked even more disgusted than before, and Hermione didn't think she could blame him. "The Ministry would still like to know exactly what brand of magic you have been practicing, and—"

"My answer is the same as it was Monday, you hag. Go. Away."

She was silent for a moment; her smirk did not diminish in the slightest. "Well, if you're so sure," she said finally. "Just keep in mind that the Ministry has eyes and ears everywhere…"

* * *

Weeks passed quickly as the fifth years were overwhelmed by their schoolwork. The only person who wasn't stressed was Ed. Strangely enough, he didn't seem to have a problem with doing "useful" homework, as he called it; anything that required critical thinking—something most students loathed with a burning passion—was the only type of assignment he completed. Anything that was—as he put it—puking information back onto the paper, was apparently a waste of time and promptly ignored.

Ed still refused to wear the robes; he had lost Gryffindor nearly two hundred points over it before the professors realized it had no effect on him at all. They had resorted to giving him detention, something Ed deemed utterly useless. He rarely went to them.

The professors didn't seem to know what to do with him; they had taught unruly students in the past, but evidently none had cared so little for school as Edward did. He never attended Defense, and often skipped other classes in favor of spending hours in the library.

Al, on the other hand, seemed to adjust to school life much better. He wore the school robes without complaint, often commenting on how soft or comfortable they were. After Hermione explained its significance, he did all of his homework, and he attended—most—of his classes. He had apparently even forged tentative friendships with Luna Lovegood and his roommates.

(Hermione often overheard professors wondering why Ed couldn't be more like his brother.)

Despite all of this, he spent every minute of his free time—far more than he should have had, considering his workload—in the library, researching with Ed. They both spent obscenely long hours there, blocking out the rest of the world, rarely coming to meals and returning to the common room far past curfew. And one night in mid-October, Hermione had had enough. When Ed and Al walked into the common room at eleven-thirty, discouraged looks on their faces, she decided to confront them about what they were so hell-bent on discovering. Before she could ask, though—

"There's _nothing_," Ed sunk angrily into an unoccupied chair. "Nothing's even _close_ to what we need! Either you wizards are idiots, or—"

"If you told us what you're looking for, maybe we could help!" Harry said rather defensively. He had clearly been put off by Ed's antisocial tendencies; Hermione knew that he spent very little time talking with his roommates. He had developed a sort of mentor-student relationship with Neville, but that was about the extent of Edward's social life—outside of Al, of course.

(Hermione had thought the boys were inseparable at Headquarters, but it was even more unbelievably apparent at Hogwarts. They spent every waking hour together, unless Al convinced his brother that they should attend class. Even so, Al spent more time with Edward than he ever did with his fellow Ravenclaws.)

"You guys wouldn't understand it," Ed waved a hand dismissively to Harry's accusation. "It's all very advanced, and we've been studying it ever since we could read. You'd just get in the way. We're fine on our own."

Harry and Ron looked very offended by this blunt response, and Hermione couldn't help but feel the same way. The Elrics hadn't even given them a chance; the fact that Ed and Al were smarter than the three of them—in fact, probably smarter than the three of them _combined_—didn't mean that they were totally useless. Surely, a fresh view on something, a magical view, one of someone not searching as if his life depended on it…

She looked to Alphonse, hoping that he would rebuke his brother and ask for their help. She shouldn't have expected so much; he shook his head, looking almost apologetic.

"You shouldn't worry about us. We've always worked things out together. We'll get it, don't worry."

Hermione heard, loud and clear, the message the boy was far too kind to say: _Stay out of our business. We don't trust you enough._

"Whatever you want, I guess," Ron said gruffly, flopping back into his seat. Harry also admitted defeat, glaring mistrustfully at the Elrics as they began talking to each other in a different language. It was an annoying habit they had, when they didn't want anyone to listen to them; Hermione wanted to ask them to teach her, if only so she wouldn't be so confused.

"Look, at least let us try," she said loudly, cutting off their discussion abruptly. "You guys always say we wouldn't understand, but you never even give us a chance! What are you looking for? We're not totally useless, you know, and you're not on your own. You guys _are_ allowed to ask people for help when you need it."

This apparently struck a chord with Ed, for he stared at her for a moment in surprise before sighing. "Have you ever heard of something called the Gate?"

Hermione could clearly hear the importance of the word in his voice despite his effort to sound casual; it held part fear, part respect, part hatred. It was obviously important, and she racked her brain trying to think of anything she had read that could help them.

"I think there might have been a mention of it in a title I read first year," she said slowly. "It's important, isn't it? I can try and find it again, if that would help."

"Please!" Al's whole face lit up in an instant, betraying the neutral façade he and Ed had tried so hard to hold up. Despite the fact that it was far past curfew, Hermione quickly led the way to the library, her mind working furiously. Where had it been? It hadn't had an author; that was all she could remember for sure. But the section? The title?

She found the book after several minutes of searching near the back of the library. World Cooking: The Gate to Foreign Cultures. She only remembered it because the title seemed so strange, but she was grateful for it now. She turned around to face Ed and Al triumphantly.

"I'm not sure what a cookbook will do for you, but I'm sure this is what I was thinking of," she said, giving it to Ed. He glanced at the title, laughed heartily, and handed it over to Al.

"Finally, someone in this world has sense!"

Hermione stared at him oddly, but Al laughed as well, checking the binding for an author. Now that she thought about it, it was odd that something as plain as a cookbook was written anonymously…

"It's coded," Al said as explanation, flipping through the pages quickly.

"The entire book's written in _code_?" Hermione asked, her voice going rather high. When they had mentioned coding their notes, she had assumed it was something like an anagram, where it simply looked like nonsense to everyone but the author. Coding an entire book to make it look like something else, she decided, was _possible_, but the amount of effort and time required—

"This is excellent. Maybe you wizards aren't as dumb as we thought," Ed flashed her a grin before turning around. "We can check it out at the front, right? This'll take a while, and if you insist we don't stay in the library all day…"

Ten minutes later, Edward and Alphonse were situated at a large table in the common room, the small red book and several rolls of parchment spread out in front of them. "What're you going to do with it, then?" Ron asked curiously.

"Figure out what it is he's coded. It might help us," Ed said. "Damn, we don't have any reference books this time…"

"Parts are written in Xerxesian," Al said, squinting at a page in the middle of the book. "Look, it's not Amestrian, it's the old script—"

"But unless he came over four hundred years ago, because Xerxes—"

"Right. But the Gate doesn't change, so his theory still—"

They continued their fast-paced discussion, occasionally lapsing into Amestrian. Hermione couldn't even keep up with the parts that were in _English_. She had known they were smart, _ridiculously_ smart, but this bordered on blindingly brilliant. She wondered briefly if they might even be smarter than Dumbledore…

Ron and Harry diligently copied Hermione's homework like the studious boys they were, and she resorted to watching the Elrics work. They were talking entirely in Amestrian now, quickly filling up long rolls of parchment with unfamiliar words and diagrams. They had said they specialized in a science similar to chemistry, but the things they were writing down didn't look much like the chemistry she knew…

"Done! Thanks a million, Hermione," Ron said, grinning and handing her homework back to her.

"Have they made any progress?" Harry asked, looking over and apparently trying to make sense of their notes.

"No we haven't. Stop annoying us," Ed growled, not looking up from the book. As quickly as he said it, he slipped back into his research, pointing at a page in the book emphatically and saying something to Al.

"Well, we'll leave the geniuses to it, then," Ron said, looking rather bemused.

"You're sure there's nothing we can help you with?" Hermione asked. "If you taught us a little Amestrian, or the theory of your chemistry…maybe he added a magical component you're overlooking." Ed shook his head, not even looking their way, and continued talking to Al.

"You know, Brother…" It took Hermione a moment to realize Al was speaking in English. "Maybe we should teach them a few phrases, for emergencies…"

"Mm…I suppose," Ed said slowly. "Let's see here…_this_—" he scribbled down something on a scrap of parchment—"means 'we're in deep shit, help us out.' And this one—" he wrote another—"means 'stay out of our business, we don't need anyone butting in.' Okay? Don't forget, or I might have to kill you."

Hermione couldn't tell if he was being serious or not, but she took the slip without question. She was surprised that they translated to such long phrases; "Gluckviel" was the first, and "Valbisd" was the other. Before she could ask, though, the Elrics had already absorbed themselves in their work.

"Nutters," Ron muttered, also staring in confusion at the Amestrian words. "If you're gonna teach us a language, at least teach us something useful—"

"They'll be useful," Ed said, scowling deeply as he looked up. "We want to get this done, right? So if you want to complain, take it somewhere else."

"I'm not complaining! I'm just saying!" Ron said defensively, throwing his hands into the air. "If you're going to bother—"

Hermione tuned them out as she noticed what Al was doing: tapping the red book with one bony finger as he wrote more notes. At first glance, it simply looked like a nervous—

_Oh…it's code…?_

Apparently he heard her exhale heavily, for he looked up at her and grinned before returning to his book.

Meanwhile, Ron and Ed's argument continued uninterrupted. "Dad said you did crazy stuff to that café last month, but then you say you aren't wizards! Why won't you tell anyone what it is or teach it—"

"Because it's _very_ dangerous in the wrong hands," Ed hissed. "And nobody would gain from learning it. It takes _years_, and we don't have that kind of time. Alchemy isn't easy, and—"

"Alchemy?" Harry said sharply, effectively stopping both Ed and Al cold. "That stuff you did is _alchemy_?"

"Isn't that what I said?" Ed said impatiently, though he was obviously beating himself up over the slip-up.

"The only alchemist I know of was Flamel, and he died four years ago," Hermione said slowly. "And I've never heard of it manipulating things like they said you did—"

"That guy probably just did cheap tricks," Ed said derisively, turning back to Al and the book. "The person who wrote this is the only real alchemist from here—"

"Couldn't they be the same guy?" Ron asked. "You said this guy had to have written four hundred years ago, right? Wasn't Flamel like six hundred when he died?"

It was more like six hundred seventy, but Hermione was so startled that Ron remembered such a thing that she didn't correct him. When she turned her attention back to Ed and Al, though, their expressions were ones of abject horror.

"He had a Philosopher's Stone?" Al asked, his eyes growing even larger. "But then—how did he die?"

"Dumbledore destroyed it," Harry shrugged. "Said it was too dangerous."

_Wait, how do they know what a Philosopher's Stone is in the first place?_ If they didn't know who Flamel was…he was the only one who had successfully created the Stone…

"_Shit,_" Ed said angrily, turning once again to the book. "That explains—he—the—_fuck!_" he stood up quickly, grabbing the book and their notes. "Al, let's go!"

Hermione felt rather lost by their half-conversation, and yelled after them—"Where are you going?"

"Dumbledore!"


	12. Deliverer of Souls

**XII**  
**Deliverer of Souls**

Ed was, to put it simply, terrified. He and Al dashed through the halls, ignoring the portraits and ghosts as they yelled that it was far past midnight. They knew where Dumbledore's office was, and they knew the password—_from three weeks ago._ The old man had called them in to say that there had been no sightings of Pride near Headquarters. Now, they knew why.

_If the password's changed…!_ They finally arrived at the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. "Sugar quills," he said angrily to the statue. It shook its head blearily, as if just waking up, and turned to look at them.

"What was that?" it asked in its gravelly monotone.

"Sugar quills!"

It moved aside slowly. "You're lucky; the Headmaster was going to change it in—"

Ed and Al didn't wait to hear the rest of it; they dashed up the spiral staircase, barging into the office without bothering to knock. "Old man!" Ed yelled. The room was dark; there was nobody there. If he was off in Frank again, Ed was going to—

"Edward, Alphonse! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Ed's head shot to the far end of the office, where Dumbledore was descending a staircase, lighting torches as he went. Ed never thought he'd be so happy to see the manipulative bastard. "We need to talk to you!"

"And it couldn't have waited for the morning?" There was more jest than reprimand in his tone, but Ed heard the underlying skepticism clearly.

"Flamel. Did he have a Philosopher's Stone?" Al asked urgently.

Dumbledore paused momentarily, staring at them for a moment. Then, he conjured chairs before his desk and gestured for them to take a seat. "That's common knowledge," he said, surprise lacing his tone as he sat down as well. "Why is it a prob—?"

"And he wrote this book, didn't he?" Ed slammed the book and their notes onto the desk for Dumbledore's inspection.

He glanced at the title and smiled fondly. "Yes, Nicholas did enjoy his food. With all the world travelling he did, he wrote several—"

"_Cut the bullshit_. These are _extremely_ dangerous alchemy notes. If the wrong person—" _Pride—_"got a hold of these…" So the old man was going to underestimate them, was he? Marcoh's code had been more intricate than this; even _their _codes were harder to crack than Flamel's! They had figured out what everything meant quickly; it was just a matter of discovering the last piece. _Immortality. The Philosopher's Stone. A pl—_

Dumbledore's smile grew wider. "You two really are bright, aren't you? I suppose if you know that much…Nicholas told me that the cookbooks were only a cover for the true contents, but I've never been able to decipher them fully."

"They were easy to read," Ed said, rolling his eyes. "And if Pride gets these, we're in deep shit, so—"

"I told you that nobody in contact with the Order has seen Pride," Dumbledore said, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps he has found a way back—"

"Like _hell_ he has!" Ed cut across him. "He's been carving blood crests to be points on the circle—we have to stop him!"

Dumbledore's reaction was not quite what Ed had expected; he only sat there, staring at them with one eyebrow raised. "Blood crests? I'm not sure I follow…"

"Professor, he'll turn your entire country into a Philosopher's Stone if we don't stop him first," Al said pleadingly. "Stones are made of millions of human souls! And Pride will want more to get—"

"Just a moment," Dumbledore cut him off, looking surprised and a bit defensive. "As you understand it, Philosopher's Stones are created through mass genocide? When they are made through magic, there is no—"

"That's how they're made through alchemy, and it's how Pride knows how to make them," Ed said loudly. "And Flamel was an alchemist, wasn't he? It's in this book, damnit! If you want us to—"

"Nicholas studied for several years with his partner—a _wizard_—to discover the perfect combination of magic and alchemy." Dumbledore's voice was growing cold now. "They created a Stone with spells and potions, without sacrificing life to do it. Perhaps you translated the notes incorrectly. He would never—"

Ed slammed his hands onto the desk, standing up and flipping through Flamel's notes to the correct page. "Look, right here." He shoved the book into Dumbledore's grasp. "That part about a 'suffocating aroma?' People are choked to death to become part of a Stone!"

"Or it could simply mean that the potion being described has a particularly strong scent," the old man said, shutting the book decisively and standing up. "I appreciate your efforts to predict Pride's movements—if he is still in England at all—but you are wrong on this account. Our country is in no danger—"

"_Six hundred and fifty years!_" Ed roared, blocking Dumbledore's path. "That's how long ago Flamel crossed over, isn't it? Your fourteenth century. Tell me, was there anything at that time where _millions of people were killed?_"

He stopped cold, staring at Ed with a shocked expression. It was quickly masked with simple curiosity, but Ed wasn't blind. "I cannot think of—"

"Please don't lie, Professor. It was in all of the history books," Al said quietly, standing up as well and collecting their notes back into a neat pile. "Mister Flamel also mentioned that he was going to give some of his memories to his apprentice that would explain everything. That would be you, right?"

Ed had never seen Dumbledore so speechless before; his mouth hung open, and his hands were clenched tightly into fists. "He did leave me several memories," he said at length, his voice flat, unreadable. Ed knew that they had won. "He dubbed everything over in very fast, very accented Xerxesian. I never got past the beginning of the first one, as I can barely—"

"Well, that's what we're here for," Ed said, glaring up at him. "If you could pull out these memories so we can prove—"

Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh, turning to a cupboard behind his desk. He pulled out half a dozen stoppered test tubes and an enormous stone basin. It was covered with strange, unfamiliar runes, but Ed didn't get the chance to ask what they meant.

"This is called a Pensieve," Dumbledore said as explanation, pouring the memories—strange, half-vapor tendrils of silver string—into the bowl. "It allows us to view someone's memories. If you touch the surface, you'll go in…"

Ed did so without hesitation, falling headfirst into the liquid and landing heavily on a crowded cobblestone street. He knew where they were at a glance—a bustling Xerxesian market—but the sight of it still took him by surprise. He knew, intellectually, that he and Al had inherited their father's Xerxesian features, but it was strange—breathtaking, in a way—to see so many others with the same hair and eyes.

He shook himself out of those thoughts, though, as Dumbledore appeared next to them in the memory. "This is Xerxes," he told the old man impatiently, doing his best to overcome the shock of the place. "Where is Flamel?"

He pointed wordlessly to a scrawny young man—about the same age as Ed—several feet away. Dumbledore, too, seemed to be taken aback by the sight of so many people of the uncommon race.

"Six hundred!" Flamel was saying loudly, leaning over the counter.

"I can't take that little for so much water, boy! We're in the middle of the desert!" The shopkeeper was an old, grumpy-looking man with more hair on his arms than on his head. "I'll need eight hundred at the very least."

"I don't have time for this!" Flamel roared, slamming his empty fist on the wood. "This transmutation needs to be done _soon_! Seven hundred, or I'm taking my business elsewhere!"

The man grumbled, turning into the tent behind him. "Thirty-five liters, did you say?"

"Make sure it's _exact_. I can't have any miscalculations."

Ed stepped closer to Flamel, inspecting him. He didn't look angry so much as anxious that the transaction was taking so long; he was shifting from foot to foot, clenching and unclenching his free hand. In his left, he carried a large burlap sack. Though Ed couldn't see through the thick material, he knew what filled it: bottles of phosphorus, sulfur, lime…

_Of course he had to have performed Human Transmutation, if he went through the Gate…_But the inevitability of it did not ease Ed's roiling stomach. To see someone else make the same asinine mistake that they had—

"Here you go," the shopkeeper said, rolling out a huge jug of water with a rather incredulous look on his face. Flamel paid him quickly, leaving the market immediately after. As they walked, Flamel's face got more and more excited; it was lit up with a nearly demonic glint. Mad with joy, most likely. Ed knew the feeling; he and Al had experienced it years ago, after all. He thought that he could resurrect the dead, see that smile, hear that voice one more time…

_What a foolish dream._

Flamel seemed to be leading the way to a more upscale part of the city as they walked along. "He was buying…water, right?" Dumbledore asked as the silence stretched longer. Ed nodded, watching Flamel closely. The longer they walked, the faster he seemed to go. Anxious to get started on the transmutation, probably.

"Did he ever tell you how he got to your world? How he ended up at the Gate in the first place?" Dumbledore shook his head mutely, so Ed continued—"He performed Human Transmutation. Tried to bring someone back to life. It failed, and his price was crossing the Gate to your world." _That lucky bastard…_

"How are you so knowledgeable about it?" Dumbledore asked carefully, his eyes going sharp as he shot Ed a sidelong glance. "Have you—"

"Every good alchemist knows not to try Human Transmutation," Al said, shrugging. "People who have survived it have told us about the Gate and its tolls. It's common knowledge at home."

Ed was surprised his brother could pull off that lie so well. But then, it wasn't so much of a lie as telling part of the truth.

"But for you to have come to England, you would have had to—"

Dumbledore was cut off sharply when Flamel turned onto a well-kept walk leading to an enormous house. The three of them followed wordlessly as he made his way through the house, greeting family and slaves alike with a sort of breathless excitement. None of them knew his plan, it seemed; they responded to him with rather bemused looks on their faces.

"Master Nicholas, what has you in such a good mood this morning?" an elderly slave asked, bowing her grey head low.

"I've figured out the right formula! I'm going to bring Mayo back!"

Everyone in the vicinity perked up immediately, turning to Flamel. "Can al-ki-mee do that?" A little girl—probably a younger sister, based on her fine clothing—bounded up to him and grabbed a hold of his belt.

"Of course it can, Dorri," Flamel said confidently, patting her head and letting his grin grow wider. "Big Brother will be back in no time. _Both_ of them."

She laughed, looking up at Flamel with big golden eyes, and Ed's gut twisted unpleasantly. Soon, this little girl would be left with nothing of Nicholas and a monster of Mayo…

"We'll be back in a few minutes. I've got the circle drawn out in my rooms, so just wait for us here, okay?" Dorri nodded immediately and ran to hold onto the skirts of her mother.

"Good luck, Brother!"

Ed's breath hitched, and he barely remembered that he had to follow Flamel as he moved through several more halls. They eventually arrived at a large chamber with a huge, intricate circle painted onto the floor. Many of the ingredients were already in a bowl in the middle. Flamel quickly added the last few he needed along with several drops of blood—"For the soul," Al explained to Dumbledore quickly—and knelt at the edge of the circle.

"Mayo…" Flamel seemed caught up in his emotions as he prepared for the transmutation. "It's been so long…but we'll see you again…Dorri has missed you…we all have…"

Ed found that he could barely watch as his trembling hands touched the edge of the circle. Immediately, the blue light filled the room. Flamel's face became much more confident, grinning openly as the ingredients began to move in the bowl.

And then it all went to hell.

Dumbledore inhaled sharply as the lights turned a deep purple and the portal opened feet away from Flamel. The man _screamed_ as his hands were ripped away, his arms, his legs, and he was drawn backward, away from his home, toward the Gate.

The last thing Flamel—or any of them—saw of Xerxes was Dorri bursting into the room, her eyes wide with indescribable terror.

"BIG BROTHER!"

And then there was the whiteness.

"This was your boggart, Edward," Dumbledore said sharply, staring around at the Truth's domain. "Is this the G—"

Ed shushed him as the Truth appeared, grinning, in front of Flamel. "Where's Mayo?" he demanded immediately. "My circle was perfect! We should get him back! Who do you think you are?"

Despite his tough words, Flamel looked utterly terrified; his clenched fists were shaking violently, and his face was nearly as pale as the landscape around him. "Where is he? _What's going on?_"

God did not respond to his demands. It only grinned its sick grin as the Gate opened wide. "You'll never see any of them again."

Everything turned black. Before Ed could demand to know what was wrong, Flamel's voice began talking out of the nothingness—

"In the interest of time…when I woke up next, I was on an island called Sicily, where nobody knew me, and I knew none of their languages. Even with the vast knowledge that _thing_—the Gate—gave me, I was barely able to communicate. But eventually I adjusted, found out they practiced _magic_, and began working side-by-side with them. My most regular partner was an old man named Bartolomeo…"

The next scene faded in slowly. It showed Flamel working at a desk with a very old, very large wizard. "Tell me, Nicholas," Bartolomeo said, putting down his quill to address the younger man. "You're fitting in very well here. _Why_ do you have to get back to—wherever you're from? I'm happy to help you, but—"

"I have a family back home," he replied, finishing a sentence and looking up with a fierce expression on his face. "I have to get back to them. There _has_ to be a way to pay the equivalence for an entire person…there's equivalence for everything! I just need to find it!"

Bartolomeo paused a moment. "You said your universe specializes in alchemy, with equal trade, right? Magic doesn't have a price; it just _does_ things."

"Well, unless you can think of a way to pull magic out of a wizard, that doesn't help me," Flamel snarled. He turned back to his parchment, intent on his work, but he paused before looking up again with a sheepish expression. "That was a bit harsh, wasn't it?"

"Don't worry about it," he waved it off, turning back to his own notes. "We've been at this for nearly two years now. Of course you'll get frustrated every once in a while."

"Mm." They were silent for several minutes, intent on their notes. "What's in this for you?" Flamel asked suddenly, staring hard at him. Bartolomeo looked up immediately, his face incredulous and defensive. "I mean, I really appreciate the top wizard scholar helping me, and you're a really nice guy. But you've been working just as hard as me for all this time. I mean, nobody's _that _nice…" He trailed off, looking uncertainly at Bartolomeo.

The old man laughed loudly, his enormous stomach heaving. "You did say only the brilliant could learn to be alchemists," he said finally, still grinning. "Well, the way I see it, if you find a way to totally bypass your equivalency, that would be cheating God, wouldn't it? If you learned to do that, it may be the way to live forever, as well. I'm getting old, even for a wizard, you see.

"And Nicholas, I don't want to die…"

As that scene faded out, Ed wondered at Flamel's behavior. Specifically, he was confused by the _kindness_ he was showing toward Bartolomeo. The man who wrote the alchemy notes had such a wildly different personality, voice, _everything_, that even _Ed_ was starting to doubt their conclusion.

"_Kill millions to live forever…"_

"_They're only peasant souls; no one will miss them…"_

"_Nobody could ever know it was us. There won't be any trouble…"_

These sadistic, misanthropic lines he clearly remembered translating were so far from the Flamel he saw here…he hadn't even _thought_ of using another person as a toll to send him home. Comparing the two people, he wondered if maybe Dumbledore was right after all…

The old man turned to the two of them, a nearly smug look on his face. "You see? That's the Flamel I knew. Always courteous, not even thinking of putting others' lives on the line. I doubt we need to—"

But Al shushed him as another scene faded in. Flamel and Bartolomeo were working by candlelight, several rolls of parchment already full of information. Both looked a few years older, and for Bartolomeo, it showed. His hand shook as he wrote notes, and he was noticeably less zealous about his work than Flamel.

Looking at their notes as they worked in silence, Ed could make out that they were only researching immortality. Flamel had probably assumed that anything that beat death would be enough of a toll to get him home. Ed supposed it was a logical conclusion, however sick the end results were.

Bartolomeo suddenly set down his quill, heaved a heavy sigh, and addressed Flamel: "My dear boy, don't you think it's safe to assume that there is no answer? Surely, even with magic, there has to be things that cannot be done. We can go back to finding out how to extract magic from wizards; that may have answers for you, and—"

"_No!_" Flamel's head snapped up, glaring at the old man. His hair had grown out, and it was very unkempt; combined with his golden eyes, it gave him a feral look as the shadows danced across his features. "This is our answer! I am _not_ giving up!"

His voice was hoarser, wilder, than it had been in the past. Chancing a glance at Dumbledore, Ed saw that his eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. Obviously, this was _not_ the Flamel he had known.

"Nicholas." Bartolomeo's voice was flat, defeated. "_Immortality is impossible._ If we wanted to live more than one lifespan, others' lives would have to be cut, wouldn't they? That's your rule of "Equivalent Exchange." So unless you're—"

But Flamel's eyes were widening, and Ed knew that this was it. All at once, the already-accented dialogue became much harder to understand. Ed and Al strained to listen to the conversation, while Dumbledore looked totally lost.

"That's it!" Flamel said hoarsely, standing up suddenly with a familiar manic glint in his eye. "If we could collect the souls of everyone—that would be _plenty_ of equivalency! Bartolomeo, you're _brilliant!_" His hands were shaking now; a huge grin was splitting his face. "If you figure out the spells and potions we'll use, I can work on some way to collect the souls! _Thank you!_ We're going to live forever! This is it!"

"Listen to yourself!" Bartolomeo said loudly, also heaving himself to his feet. "You're willing to kill others—_innocent people,_ with families and lives and ambitions—just so _you_ can live a longer life? You haven't even mentioned going home; that's not the Nicholas Flamel I know. What about your sister? Your _brother?_"

Flamel seemed to be barely listening to his partner now; he was already going over calculations in his head, deciding what would and wouldn't work.

"_Nicholas!_"

"My family will be fine without me," Flamel said after a moment, his eyes still glazed in concentration. "They've survived this long, haven't they? And this world has so many more opportunities! There's no such thing as magic there, but now, I don't think I could live without it!" He nodded suddenly, decisively. "Yes, I think I'm going to be staying here. Equivalent Exchange be damned! If we can combine transmutation circles and magic, we could—"

"You're at it again! Killing people for your own benefit! What's come over you?" Bartolomeo looked frightened now, backing away from Flamel. "The man I've worked with all these years would never even _consider_ doing something like this!"

But as Ed looked into Flamel's golden eyes, flickering with candlelight, excitement, and pure _mania_, he knew the answer. This man, like so many before him, had become mad with power, had fallen in love with the idea of transcending God. Just like the Homunculus, like Kimblee, like the military brass…there was no turning back for him now.

"They won't be killed, old man," Flamel laughed. It was an insane laugh; there was nothing left of the doting older brother he had once been. "We'll be putting their lives to better use, for us! You're one of the best wizards in the world, right? And I was the son of a nobleman back home. We're _meant_ for this. We'll become the new creation, better than before! And they'll see it too, as souls serving us! Don't you see? They're not dying; they're becoming part of a better world!"

Bartolomeo looked skeptical, but Ed could clearly see his resolve wavering. He had to admit that Flamel's rhetoric skills were impressive…even though the message he spoke was disgustingly, horrifically _wrong_.

"Are you sure they'll live on, just within us?" the old man asked after a moment. Ed wanted to punch him for his ignorance; obviously, the "smartest wizard" of every generation wasn't too smart at all.

Flamel nodded emphatically, his grin growing, impossibly, even wider. "Will you work with me just a bit longer?"

Bartolomeo smiled as well and nodded.

When that scene faded out as well, Ed turned to Dumbledore expectantly before realizing that he probably had not understood any of it. "They just agreed to kill millions of people to make themselves live forever. Stealing their souls, essentially," Al said quickly.

"Are you—" Dumbledore was visibly shaken. Apparently, just the way the scene had _looked_ was enough to set him on edge.

Ed rolled his eyes. "_Meslengen._ Souls. You were able to catch that, weren't you?"

As the next memory started, Ed prepared himself for the worst. Maybe it would be one of them carving the blood crests. Maybe he would just skip straight to the final transmutation…

He was a bit surprised when little time seemed to have passed. Bartolomeo, with renewed vigor, was hard at work on some sort of advanced magical theory. Just as Ed was wondering where Flamel was, he walked into the room, carrying—of all things—a huge jar full of what looked like fleas.

"How's your part working out?" Flamel asked casually, putting the jar on the desk and looking over the old man's shoulder at his notes. Ed didn't like the murderous glint in his eye; it hadn't decreased since the last memory. If anything, it had only grown even more intense.

"Nearly there…" he muttered in response, not looking up from his notes. "It's tricky business, getting souls to go to a specific place. It's a bit like what the Dementors do, so I'm basing it on the way they work…"

Flamel nodded his approval, straightening up and tapping the jar. "Well, I've found our killer."

"Yes?" Bartolomeo looked up, glancing around, almost as if he expected an ax-murderer to step out of the shadows. Flamel laughed.

"I talked to a few people around town; apparently, the ships that come in from the East are infested with all sorts of nasty diseases. If the wizards don't cast barrier spells every time they come in to contain them…" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. Ed was disgusted by the condescending tone he had adopted. Just because _he_ was heartless enough to create—"It was a simple matter of getting aboard the ships and getting to some of the most dangerous creatures."

Bartolomeo's gaze shot to the jar of fleas incredulously. "These little things?"

"Not just the bugs. It's what they _carry_, you see." Flamel's grin grew wider yet again, his eyes darkening. "I read that there was quite the outbreak of a nasty disease in your sixth century. And that it was spread by fleas on rats from the East…"

Bartolomeo looked very impressed. "You're sure these fleas are infected with it?"

"Of course! There are spells for that," Flamel said, waving a hand dismissively. "I was able to get several thousand, and it's highly contagious…but we could always make it worse." He grinned pointedly at Bartolomeo.

The old man returned the gesture readily. "Let me get this done first! We'll cast this spell on the fleas, drink this potion, and then anyone killed by the disease will send their soul straight to their new masters~!"

Ed grimaced at the cruel joke, glancing toward Al and Dumbledore. Al looked like he was trying very hard not to kill Flamel then and there (however impossible that might have been), and Dumbledore had turned a strange shade of grey. As that scene faded away as well, Ed wondered how much more of this they would have to endure. They all knew how it would end; did they really have to see all the death, destruction, _despair_ these monsters had caused?

It was a small mercy that Flamel lived in a purely magical community. The wizards, it seemed, had a cure for this disease, which they were unwilling to share with the Muggles. Flamel had to travel to a mostly Muggle seaside city, Siracusa, to unleash his own personal Hell.

It was amazing how _normal_ Flamel could act when the situation called for it. He wandered into the city, wearing peasant clothes and carrying his deadly package in a sack on his back. "Do you have an inn here?" he asked a young man working on the docks. "I've been walking all day…food and a bed would be wonderful…"

He perked up immediately, straightening up and grinning at Flamel. "I'll show you there as soon as I'm done working, it won't be too long…Grandma Agnes would love business! Just make sure she doesn't talk your ear off…you know how old folk get!"

Flamel laughed along with the dark-haired boy, waiting patiently for him to finish his work and lead him through the city. There was absolutely no trace of the cruelty Flamel was no doubt planning at that very moment; it really was incredible.

_No wonder he had the old man fooled._

"Gran! You've got a customer!"

A wizened woman looked up as the two of them walked through an old doorway into a rather run-down restaurant. Ed could only assume that the inn was upstairs as "Gran" smiled widely, running through the restaurant to greet them. "Well, come in, come in! What would you like to eat? We're a little low on corn at the moment, but—"

"Whatever you're in the mood to make, ma'am," he said, sinking into a slight bow. "I would like to check out a room for the night as well, if it's not too much trouble…"

"No trouble at all, dear boy! New friends are always welcome." She gestured to a table with a smile, going toward the kitchen in the back. "You make yourself comfortable…"

_He's going to kill these kind people!_ Ed was seething with rage; he could barely watch as Flamel ate dinner with Agnes and her grandson before excusing himself to his room.

He left the next morning, leaving behind an empty jar.

Ed thought that would be the last memory, that they would be sent back to the office to talk about the atrocities they had seen, but Flamel and Bartolomeo appeared again. Flamel was wearing the same outfit as in the previous memory; it was apparently later in the same day.

"How many will we get, do you think?" Bartolomeo sounded like a little child in a candy store; his eyes shone with new vitality.

"Mm…it's hard to tell, but it's a highly contagious thing." Flamel was sitting with his back to the old man, inspecting his fingernails. _That bastard…this doesn't bother him at all!_

"Yes, this will be quite the success!" Bartolomeo's expression turned a bit more sinister, though his tone was just as childlike and light-hearted as before. "I'm trying to decide what to do with the rest of my life, now that we've got millennia…" As he drew his wand, Ed heard clearly what he really meant to say: _now that _I've _got millennia…_

He began to say the killing curse under his breath. But then, Flamel pressed his palms together all the way, slamming his right against the stone wall. A huge ax came out of it with a shower of blue sparks, swinging and slicing Bartolomeo's head clean off his shoulders.

Ed averted his eyes from the disgusting sight quickly, turning to look back at Flamel. There was absolutely no change in his demeanor; he was back to picking at the dirt beneath his nails. The only evidence of what he had just done was the smallest of smirks growing across his face.

Finally, _finally,_ the three of them were standing in Dumbledore's office again. Dumbledore's face was ashen, and he collapsed back into his chair with a badly suppressed sob. "I knew him for so long, and I _never_ suspected…"

"You saw him in the memories, sir," Al said, his face falling with concern. "He fooled _everyone_. He could act so well that no one suspected anything!"

"He never helped in either of the wars I fought in," Dumbledore continued. He was lost in memories and regret, it seemed. "With…Grindelwald, and again with Voldemort's first war…but he never said why…"

"Old man," Ed started, not really knowing what to say. Dealing with an upset Winry was nearly impossible; dealing with a raging Mustang was even harder; dealing with an Albus Dumbledore who seemed one step from a breakdown..."You can't worry about that now, right? You've got to move forward and protect against Pride. Once he realizes that he doesn't need a circle or blood crests to make a Stone, he'll do it as soon as he can."

Al nodded fervently. "We can't just sit around at Hogwarts anymore! We're probably the only real threats to him right now, so maybe we can draw him out. We need to figure out a way to beat him."

Dumbledore only nodded, his eyes still wide and blank. "_Headmaster Dumbledore!_" Ed said loudly, pounding on the desk until he looked up. "You can't give up now! Never give up! Keep moving forward, keep planning your win over Voldemort! You're the best hope this world has, right? You can't just give up on all those people because of something you regret from _years ago!_ You might not be able to fix the past, but you can keep it from ever happening again!"

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, and Ed thought he might have to yell some more to make him realize the gravity of the situation. This wasn't just about him or Al or Dumbledore or even _Harry-fucking-Potter;_ this was about a monster that, given the right information, would happily destroy the whole world. They had to stop him, _at all costs._

"You're right, aren't you?" Dumbledore said quietly, his eyes clearing as he smiled weakly up at Ed and Al. "There are more important things to worry about than betrayal by a dead man. Where do you suggest we start looking for Pride?"

"All we know is what's in your paper," Al said, a skeptical look on his face. "And Harry said that it isn't very reliable, so…"

"We'll join your rebellion group," Ed decided. "You guys are _hopefully_ the best fighters around here, right? How's your agility? Acrobatics?"

Dumbledore simply raised an eyebrow, and Ed huffed. "Well, you'd better leave Pride to us, then. We'll live at Sirius' house, yes? That's where you all seem to stay half the time, anyway…"

"Yes, I will send word ahead to him. If you want to retrieve what you will need from your rooms…Nicholas left several other cookbooks full of notes behind as well; I can banish those to Headquarters for you, along with your belongings."

Ed nodded and sped out of the office, down the stairs and through the familiar, _foreign_ hallways. He and Al parted ways at a hall intersection, each headed for his own dormitory as fast as possible. There was no time, _absolutely no time at all—_

Ed burst into the Gryffindor common room at long last, barely winded as he sprinted up the six flights of stairs to the dorm room he shared with the other boys. He was rarely there, except to use the shower; he spent more time sleeping over a book in the library than in his own bed. It was a simple matter of throwing a few stray books and socks back into his trunk, heaving up one end with ease, and pulling it toward the door.

"Ed…s'at you…?"

He swore loudly, something he immediately regretted; Ron's sleepy voice was soon joined by the other boys', all half-asleep and wondering what they had been woken up for. Ed should have expected this…it was nearing three in the morning, after all.

(But when had the time of day ever mattered to him?)

"I'm leaving. Go back to sleep," he said shortly, already starting for the door. _No time…maybe we're already out—_

"Leaving? Like dropping out of school?" Harry asked, his voice going sharp. "You can't just—"

Ed ignored Seamus' annoyed mumble of "good riddance" as he opened the door and shot back—

"Sure I can. There are things we have to do that are more important than _schoolwork_. Not like I did much of that anyway." He laughed. "Maybe I'll see you guys again, and maybe I won't. Have a nice life, I suppose."

Just as he was descending the stairs, he felt the weight of his trunk lighten in his left hand. He turned to see Harry and Ron standing on its other end, looking determined despite their grogginess. Ed was just about to yank it back, tell them to leave him the hell alone, when they nudged him forward, down the stairs.

"This is about that book, isn't it?" Harry asked as they reached the bottom and crossed the common room. "You found something in there, and now you've got to work with Dumbledore to figure out what it all means?"

"We _know_what it all means," Ed said shortly, climbing out of the portrait hole and accepting the trunk before Harry and Ron clambered through themselves. "That's the problem, see. We've got to figure out a counter-plan before Pride does anything."

He spared a passing glance for an unfamiliar portrait of a disgustingly adorable kitten on the wall (Al would have loved it) before continuing, "We're leaving to help out Dumbledore and them. You're all _goners_ without us."

"That's a bit presumptuous, mate," Ron said, surprise lacing his tone. "I mean, that Pride guy can't be _that_ scary!"

"Of course he can," Ed snarled. "He'd probably scare the shit out of that Voldiewhore wimp you're all so terrified of."

This seemed to shock the two boys into silence, for they walked the rest of the way to Dumbledore's office without incident. Al was already there, holding a palm-sized trunk in one hand and his cat's carrier in the other.

_Why didn't I think of shrinking my trunk?_

"Ah, there you are, Edward," Dumbledore said, smiling as the three of them set the trunk down.

"Brother, was it too heavy for you?" Al was grinning teasingly. "You've gotten flabby, haven't you?"

"You're one to talk!" Ed said, not really irritated at all. "You've hardly got any muscle! I could probably throw you—"

"Boys," Dumbledore said patiently, already Banishing their belongings. "You're going to have to Floo there, as Apparition is not possible on Hogwarts grounds. Just say 'the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.' You should arrive in the kitchen just fine, as you've already been told the address. Sirius is waiting for you."

"Right," Ed said, rather excited to be out of the restricting school. He could spend time with two of the only people in this world he actually _liked!_ He walked over to the huge fireplace, eyeing it critically. "You think we could fit at the same time? Because Al's so scrawny, and all…"

Al punched him lightly on the arm and grabbed a pinch of the green stuff. "Yeah, we should fit. It'll use less of Professor Dumbledore's powder, anyway!" He threw it in the empty hearth, and the green flames roared to life. "See you guys later, I guess," Al said to Harry and Ron, waving as he stepped into the fire.

The Gryffindors waved as well, looking rather disappointed that they were leaving. "Look, be glad you're not mixed up in this," Ed said dismissively, stepping toward the fire as well. "Just worry about those 'BATs' or whatever your tests are in June, right? We'll be busy saving the world." Their mouths fell open rather spectacularly, but Ed only laughed and said, in sync with Al, "The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix!"

The blinding array of colors and living rooms was to be expected as their trip began. Ed simply waited for the magic to land them in the right place.

What he did _not_ expect to see, however, was the hand grabbing for Al's scalp. Ed yelped and tried to pull him out of the way, but then the hand got a grasp on his braid. It yanked, pulling the both of them out of the network, and Ed found himself somewhere dark and unfamiliar.

Before he could get his bearings, before his eyes could adjust, before he could figure out how to fight back and _protect Al,_ there were several yells from all around them that made Ed's blood run cold.

"_Stupefy!_"

* * *

_I'm pretty sure all the historical facts match up with what I put in the memories :D Flamel was 665 in 1991, which would mean he was born in 1326, our time. Say he crossed the Gate when he was, eh, seventeen. And then four years of adjusting/research, and BAM, according to a map I found, the plague started in Europe in northern Italy/Sicily/those other islands, 1347. I was so freaking happy when I found that, haha. And every other fact in there should be consistent with history as well, even that it was more contagious than the outbreak in the 6th century :o Yay historical conspiracies~!_

_One more thing: remember, this is mangaverse. **Flamel and Hoho-papa are two different people**. Flamel was born ~200 years before Hohenheim, and Hoho has never crossed the Gate. Just wanted to make that clear, because Hohenheim is waaaaay too badass to be such a sadistic bastard. Savvy~? :D_


	13. Dying of the Light

**XIII**  
**Dying of the Light**

"…Did you see that, Professor?" Harry asked, leaning closer to the fire. He thought he had seen—something—but he hadn't been entirely sure what it was. A hand, maybe? Covered with rings…

"Yes," Dumbledore said, his brow furrowed. "It looked like someone attempted to intercept them mid-trip…" He quickly conjured a Patronus—"To Sirius Black: Has the package arrived safely?"

The phoenix flew away quickly, and Dumbledore retreated to his desk, sitting heavily in his chair. "Are…are you all right, sir?" Ron asked tentatively. Harry understood the reason for his best friend's confusion; he had never seen the Headmaster look so _old_ before. Dumbledore had lived for more than a hundred and fifty years, but this was the first time Harry had seem him looking his age—frail, thin, and utterly miserable.

The old man did not answer, though, so Harry and Ron had to settle for sharing a confused glance and waiting for Sirius' response.

A minute or so passed before the large, furry dog bounded up to the desk. "The most important part has not arrived yet. Has it been lost in transit?" It was obvious Sirius had made his tone as casual as he could, but Harry could hear the worry in his voice.

Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh, standing up and conjuring yet another Patronus, addressed to all in the Order.

"The need has arisen for an emergency meeting. October sixteenth at five o'clock in the morning. Do your absolute best to be there."

He turned to Harry and Ron as the phoenix multiplied and flew off in every direction, a very grave look on his face. "If you hear _anything_ about them, tell one of the Order immediately. Edward and Alphonse are remarkably capable young men, but if our guesses are true…"

"What's going on, exactly?" Harry asked, barely concealing his irritation. If Ed's boasting over the summer had been true, either of the Elrics was more than a match for _any_ of the Dark wizards. If they were kidnapped by one of them—even _Voldemort_—couldn't they just fight their way out?

Dumbledore merely shook his head, sitting down again. "Trust no one who is not a known supporter of the Order. Most of the staff—Umbridge and Filch aside—are trustworthy. If you must send mail, make sure it is coded. We don't know how far up his system goes."

"Voldemort's?" Harry guessed. "I mean, I know he freed Azkaban and controls the Dementors, but—"

The old man merely shook his head and gestured to the door. "You may learn more when _we_ know what is going on. It will depend on the situation…but now, I believe it is far past your curfew."

He said no more, and the boys reluctantly made their way out of the office and back to their dormitory. Harry was still a bit shaken about how _vulnerable_ Dumbledore had looked back there; he hadn't even had the heart to demand to know what was going on. If the unshakable cornerstone of the Order was upset about something, how were the _rest_ of them supposed to get through it?

"Let's tell Hermione and Neville to keep an eye out for stuff about them," he said as they climbed through the portrait hole. "And the fourth year Ravenclaws, too…weren't they friendly with Al?"

"Yeah," Ron nodded, still looking rather pale. "What kind of monster_ is_ that Pride thing, anyhow? Ed hasn't been scared by _anything_ except him…"

Harry shrugged, images of little boys with devil horns and red eyes flashing absurdly through his mind. "We'll just have to watch out, then. If Ed and Al are taking him seriously, he must be a real threat." If he was honest with himself, Harry was rather frightened by this demonic figure. From what he could remember of Ed's description—and what Hermione knew of Homunculi—he was soulless, merciless, _immortal_…

And he controlled solid shadows? What kind of monster could do that?

As he and Ron climbed wordlessly back into bed, all Harry could think was that this was probably going to get a hell of a lot worse.

* * *

Sirius paced his kitchen anxiously, exhausted but unable to sleep. Something had happened to Ed and Al in the Floo network. _Someone had kidnapped them._ He had only known them for a couple of months, but he considered them great kids, fun to be around, and brilliant beyond belief. For all practical purposes, they had become the two newest members of the Weasley family, and many members of the Order treated them as such.

_Molly's going to worry herself to death when she finds out…_Sirius could only hope that they were all right.

Finally, five minutes before the meeting was due to start, people began arriving, groggy, bleary-eyed, and wondering what was so important. Nobody but Sirius seemed to know the situation, and he didn't exactly want to be the one to break the news…so the large group simply sat around the kitchen table, waiting for Dumbledore to show up.

"We have two very serious issues to discuss," Dumbledore said, seconds after Flooing in. No "good morning," no introduction. Sirius' worry spiked. _And what's the other problem?_

"You remember the Homunculus Pride?" he started, staring around at the assembled Order members. Sirius was struck by how _old_ Dumbledore looked. Even during the first war, he had never seemed so worried, so aged. _We just saw him two days ago…what could have happened?_

"If it even exists," Snape said, looking very skeptical. "The Elrics _said_ it was here, but nobody has seen it, have they?"

"Edward and Alphonse have," Dumbledore countered smoothly. "And even if there is some doubt, in this case, I believe it would be better to err on the side of caution."

Remus leaned forward next to Sirius, looking worried. "What did you find out?"

The old man was silent for a moment, apparently composing himself. "The Elrics discovered that Philosopher's Stones, Pride's life force, are created by mass human sacrifice. He is most likely planning to kill everyone in the country to make himself stronger and send himself back home."

There was a pregnant pause as everyone digested this information. Sirius, at first, was rather skeptical. Who, really, had the power to kill absolutely everybody over such a large area? But then he was reminded: everything about Ed and Al was strange. Their history, their language, not to mention Ed's futuristic arm…

_What can we even call impossible anymore?_

"So. What do we do about it? How are we going to stop him?" he finally said, breaking the silence. "He's an immortal, sadistic monster, right?"

"Why don't Ed and Al help? They said they can hold up the best against him, right?" Tonks said, raising an eyebrow. "Something about the rest of us being too out of shape—"

"He has them," Dumbledore said bluntly, rubbing his temples. "They were pulled out of the Floo network on their way here."

Pause. Then—"How do you know who it was?" McGonagall asked disbelievingly. Worried and hoping dearly that Dumbledore was wrong, most likely. Sirius knew she was fiercely protective of all her students…no matter how much of a pain in the arse they were.

"That's the problem," Dumbledore finally fell into the chair at the head of the table, looking very grave. "It was definitely Dolores Umbridge's hand in the fire. But if anyone but Pride attempted to detain them, both boys could easily fight their way out. They would have gotten here, or at least contacted us by now."

Sirius felt his face drain of all color as the meaning of those words sunk in. "You're saying Pride is controlling the Ministry," he said, swallowing with difficulty around the dry lump in his throat.

Dumbledore nodded, and panicked talk immediately burst out around the table. Everyone knew what this meant; it was what they had been hoping would never happen. Now that it had, they had to face the consequences and counter in any way they could.

But for all his wily charms, for all his ingenious pranks and brilliant plans, Sirius could see no good end to this. As he looked down the table at Dumbledore, he knew the old man had no more ideas than any of them.

An omniscient, omnipotent monster was controlling their government. He had spies—important, _powerful_ spies—stationed at Hogwarts. He had a plan to destroy the country—and they had no idea how to stop him.

"We need Ed and Al back here," he said loudly over the hysterical chatter. "They can help fight him, right?"

People began nodding, Dumbledore among them, and the old man began outlining a plan with the various Ministry workers to confirm where the Elrics were. Sirius half-listened, his mind rushing to plan ahead. How would they get past Pride to get them to safety? How could they possibly guess Pride's movements? And most importantly: what the hell were they going to do once Ed and Al were saved?

"What if they don't need saving?" Mad-Eye asked gruffly. "The way the older one talked, they can get themselves out of anything. We need to find out whether _our_ plans will mess up _their _plans before we do anything."

A few murmured their agreement, while others scoffed; it quickly turned into a full-fledged argument that Sirius had no interest in participating in. It was early in the morning, two important members of the Order were in critical danger, and they had no time to _bicker_ over small things like this!

"Everyone shut up a minute!" he roared, finally losing his patience and gaining their attention—and several glares. "We have to trust them to some extent, but we can't leave them on their own. Kingsley, why don't you see if you can get into contact with them, if they're being held by the Ministry. Figure out their plan. We don't want to screw them over, but we can't just ignore them, can we?"

He slumped back into his seat, muttering "idiots" under his breath. Remus elbowed him reprovingly, but Sirius knew he was right. No matter how independent or mature those boys were, _everyone_ needed help sometimes. As Dumbledore finalized their plans before sending the Ministry workers off, Sirius' mind began to wander again. Even if Ed and Al _did_ manage to get free, what guarantee was there that they had any way of stopping Pride?

How the _hell_ were they supposed to stop such an inhuman monster?

Really, it all depended on them. The fate of more than fifty million people rested on the shoulders of two teenage boys. Hopefully, they were as good of fighters as they said they were. Hopefully, they overestimated Pride's power. Hopefully, they'd all pull through this, none the worse for wear.

_We can only hope._

* * *

It was dark. Why was it dark?

Oh. His eyes were closed.

But opening them was a much greater task than Ed would have thought; his eyelids felt so heavy, so leaden, that it took him several seconds to accomplish even that simple task. The world around him was not much clearer than the dark abyss he had been in before. He could barely make out anything right in front of him, let alone where he was and what was going on.

_Floo. Philosopher's Stones and Pride and the Order and that hand in the network and then spells—_

"Al!" he yelled desperately around the thickness in his throat. His eyesight became clearer, his hearing less muted. But that didn't help; all he saw were thick stone walls, and all he heard was the pounding of his own heart. "Al! Alphonse!"

No response.

Ed tried to stand up despite the leaden feeling throughout his body, but he toppled to the left, overbalanced, _because there was nothing there—_

His leg was gone. The leg he had stood on since he was eleven, the leg he had given for his mother, the leg Winry had made for him, the leg he trusted with his life—it was gone.

He crawled his way forward, desperately, awkwardly (for they had stolen his arm too), yelling Al's name. There was still no response, and Ed wondered wildly if he had gotten away, if he had been able to escape whomever had caught _him_. Surely, Al was safe, he wasn't hurt, he had gotten to Sirius or Dumbledore or _someone…_

Ed reached a set of steel bars. A prison, then. He was a prisoner. That was fine. It had happened before. As long as Al was safe, everything would be all right.

He pulled himself up on the bars, standing at full height and straining to see something—_anything_—in the inky darkness. He could still only see vague shapes and shades of black in the eternal abyss.

Ed wondered briefly if this was Hell.

Well, it was doing a good job of being _creepy as fuck._

The darkness faded away just a bit more, and Ed strained to see, to hear _anything._ Something—there had to be something—wasn't Hell supposed to be full of endless screams?

_Just a bit more._ His wide eyes darted to a spot directly in front of him, where he thought he had seen a flicker of movement. _Almost there, c'mon—_

"Al, is that you?" he said as loudly as he could, watching the strange shape for any signs of movement. Ed couldn't quite make out what it was, but it looked a bit taller than him. Another person, maybe? _Al's fine, he's not here, Molly or Sirius have him and he's not going to be hurt…_ "Who's there?" He tried asking the shadow. It was forming a vaguely t-shaped object, and Ed's still-muddled brain was confused for a moment. Who would stand with his arms straight out like that…?

A few seconds more. Just a few short seconds, and he'd be able to see who it was.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four…_

It gradually blurred into focus: definitely t-shaped. Ed thought it looked like one of those religious crosses he had seen in—

"ALPHONSE!"

All at once, the figure had become clear. Even that shock of golden hair—so like his own—became visible to Ed's steadily widening eyes. Quiet—_too quiet_—still—_far, far too still—_and thrown into sharp relief as Ed stared on in horror.

Al was tied to a cross, arms flung wide, slumped forward.

Limp.

Unmoving.

"ALPHONSE! Answer me!" Al was silent, hanging from the piece of wood. He looked like that religious figure Ed had seen mentioned in books—_just_ like him—and that man had died—slowly, horrifically, painfully. "Al! Are you awake? _C'mon!_"

His eyes adjusted further, but he didn't want to see any more; he wanted so desperately to tear his eyes from what was certainly his brother's—dear, sweet, _innocent_ Alphonse's—corpse, but he couldn't. If there was even the slightest chance that he was still alive—"Al! Damnit, don't you _dare_ die on me! We're gonna get out of this, we'll get you down, just don't—you—_fuck_—" He found himself unable to finish his sentence, choking back a sob as he collapsed to the floor. They had _killed_ his brother. They had killed _Al._ When he got his hands on whatever son of a bitch had done this—

"B—bro—"

Ed's head snapped up disbelievingly, scrambling to stand again, holding the bars with trembling fingers. He barely dared to believe it; he had heard Al's voice. Even if this was Hell, even if this was punishment for all his wrongs, it'd all be worth it to see his brother, talking, breathing, _alive_—

"Ed?" A worried rasp came from across the room this time, and Ed realized that he had not answered his brother's feeble cry in his excitement.

"I'm right here, little brother." And he couldn't stop the relief from seeping into his voice. "Are you all right? Can you breathe? Does anything hurt? I'll get you down from there, don't worry—"

"Lungs are fine," Al said. His voice was a bit stronger this time, but it was still tight with pain. "Arms—and shoulders—they're supporting my weight—it _hurts_—I forgot what this was like—"

Ed swallowed hard around another lump in his throat. Al hadn't experienced real pain in five years, and now he was drowning in it—dislocated shoulders, or close to it—he looked like he was tied at the wrists with thick, rough rope; that would hurt like hell—"Is there anything you can stand on? Can you reach the floor?" He tried desperately to think of any way to relieve his brother's pain. He'd go over there and have Al stand on _him_, if they weren't separated; whatever bastards had done this—

There was a pause from across the room, then a sudden gasp of pain. "Hurts more to reach the floor…"

Ed swore, rattling desperately at the bars in front of him. If he had anything, _anything_, he could draw a transmutation circle and get the two of them out of there. But his eyes were almost fully adjusted now, and his cell was bare, totally devoid of any tools he could possibly use.

"Where—where are we?"

Ed's mind raced, trying to figure out how to distract his brother from the agony he was surely enduring. "You remember what happened in the Floo? Those people must have locked us up here. We're in some sort of prison, two different cells—"

"So that's why you haven't come racing to cut me down yet," Al said, obviously meaning it as a joke. Nevertheless, Ed felt a stab of guilt that he couldn't do exactly that. It was such a huge relief that Al was alive, in no immediate danger of dying, and doing his best to lighten the mood, but it was Ed's fault that Al was there in the first place. If he hadn't suggested they Floo together—

"Brother," Al said, as loudly as he could, it seemed. "_This isn't your fault._ Let's just figure out what's going on, and then go from there, right? They're obviously trying to—keep my hands apart—" He hissed again, and Ed's stomach roiled violently. If he _ever_ got his hands on the bastards who—"What did they do to you?" Al asked, his voice strained again. "Let's keep talking, Brother, we'll be fine—"

Ed nearly scoffed. Al, who was most likely suffering from two dislocated shoulders and two broken wrists, was telling _him_ that they'd be fine? "They just took off my arm and leg," he said dismissively. "M'fine. First, we need to figure out how to get _you_ down and fix your arms. If they're keeping us from clapping…only Pride should know about that…"

"So obviously he's controlling a group of wizards, for them to have Stunned us like that," Al finished quickly. "If he's growing stronger, we've got to warn—"

"Yeah, we do, don't we?" Ed was thinking fast, his brilliant mind finally catching up to the situation. "But Pride shouldn't even know what you _look_ like, I mean, a general description, maybe, but—"

The two of them fell silent immediately as a door opened down the hall. Light flooded the long room, making everything much clearer once Ed's eyes had adjusted. He checked Al over to make sure he had left nothing out in his list of injuries. His feet were dangling, tauntingly, a few inches from the floor. His middle was also tied roughly to the stalk of the cross. It looked tight, _too _tight, but if Al said he could breathe…His hands were purple, and his wrists—what Ed could see of them—were terribly swollen. No circulation—broken wrists—dislocated shoulders—

His little brother saw his panicked expression and sent him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. Ed didn't believe it; his brother's face was white as death and covered with sweat. Al offered no complaints, though, simply grunting in pain as he shifted slightly to get a better look at Ed and the newcomer—

_Dolores Umbridge._

"You _bitch_," Ed snarled, crossing his cell quickly to stand as close to her as possible. "If you don't let Al down _right this second—_"

"And why in the world should I do that?" she asked, smirking at the both of them. "If his hands are free, he'll do some of that Dark magic you two practice—"

"LOOK AT HIM!" he roared, pointing with his remaining hand to his brother. "You've dislocated his shoulders! You've broken his wrists! What the hell do you think he could do with those injuries? I swear to God, if you don't—"

"Miss—Undersecretary," Al said, catching both of their attentions abruptly. "Isn't this illegal? Kidnapping and torturing us—"

"I'd hardly call that torture, dear," she replied, a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face. "Rest assured that wizards can do _much_—"

"I wasn't talking about me!" he said, even as his face crumpled in agony again. He had to catch his breath before continuing—"You ripped off two of Brother's limbs! That wouldn't sit too well with the public, would it?" His voice was low and dangerous; Ed couldn't remember the last time he had seen his brother's face so twisted in fury.

"They were easily detachable," she replied simply, turning away as if bored. "A definite safety hazard—"

"What? So we can't escape the people who kidnapped us for no reason?" Ed snarled, still as close to Umbridge as he could get. He could see Al growing paler, his breathing more labored. If they didn't do something soon—

But Umbridge seemed totally unfazed by their rage, simply continuing to smile. The next second, a shadow had wrapped around Ed's remaining leg, hurling him backwards into the stone wall. He sat up slowly to Al's horrified yells and Pride's laughter. "Of course there was a reason we kidnapped you, Edward Elric. If there was not, you would have been dead long ago."

"M'fine," he assured his brother quickly, waving a hand to quiet any questions. "So you're controlling the government, then, you bastard?" he asked Pride, squinting to see him clearly through his still-hazy vision. "Should've known—you've done it before, why not try the exact same thing again?"

"I'm not _controlling_ the Ministry," Pride said, acting surprised. For Umbridge's sake, most likely. "We're working together to make the world a better place."

Ed stared at him for a moment, completely nonplussed. Then, he burst into peals of laughter. Pride, making the world better for _humans_? He would just as soon go skipping through a sunny field of daisies—

"Oh, so you're Alphonse?" Pride disregarded his hysterics, turning curiously to face Al across the hall. Ed shut up almost immediately; there was an almost predatory tone to Pride's voice that he did not like at all.

"Yes," Umbridge said, looking both amused and bewildered. "I thought you knew what they looked like—didn't you say—"

"Let's just say that the last time we met, he looked…quite different." He shrugged dismissively, sniffing suddenly and turning toward the exit. "Ah, we've got visitors…" He retracted his shadows quickly, schooling his face into his well-practiced façade.

"I can assure you, Madame Bones, that these boys are very dangerous Dark wizards," a man was saying exasperatedly. "They recently ran away from Hogwarts, plotting terrible things against the country—"

"That's strange," a woman said, sounding impatient, "because my great-niece is in the same year as one of them, and _she _says they spent their time tutoring others in the library, right up until two nights ago."

Ed did his best not to look surprised by this pronouncement. Last he checked, he had tutored Neville maybe half a dozen times; the rest of his evenings were spent researching. _Odd, that she's on our side…_But it wasn't as if he was complaining.

The group finally arrived—a man in a ridiculous green hat and a graying old man with wild hair came first, followed by an old woman and a tall black man who both looked remarkably familiar... "Madame Bones! I didn't know that the Chief Warlock met with the accused before the trial," Umbridge said, looking surprised and perhaps a bit irritated.

"Well, I'm new, you know. After Dumbledore resigned…and I heard two Hogwarts students were standing trial." She turned to Ed first, and he did his best to look less pissed off. She, apparently, was sympathetic, and the head of the court system. It would probably be in their best interest to get on her good side.

"So who are all of you?" he asked after a moment when she didn't seem about to start the conversation. He realized the reason, rather belatedly; she was staring at his empty coat sleeve and pant leg in horror.

"What happened to your limbs?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Just an accident…ma'am," he added as an afterthought. "It was several years ago. But apparently my prosthetics are 'dangerous.' Never mind _that_; if you people don't—"

Madame Bones seemed not to hear the second part of his statement, spinning to face the man with the hat. "I will not stand for this, Minister! Make sure his prosthetics are returned to him—"

Al made a sort of weak wheezing noise, and Ed jumped immediately, rushing along his cell door to a spot where he could see him properly. "Al! Al, what's wrong?"

His brother didn't seem capable of responding; his face was turning red, and he didn't look like he could—

"One of you! The rope around his middle, damnit!" he roared to the adults, who were all just standing there rather stupidly. "_Now,_ you bastards! He can't breathe!"

Bones and the two silent men spun around quickly, Ed's rage spurring them into action. But when they got a good look at Al, all three froze, gaping at the sight before them. Bones swayed on the spot, clutching her heart. "Holy mother of God—"

"GO!"

The two men jumped forward, charming the door open quickly and dashing to Al. The shorter, grey-haired man slashed the rope restricting his breathing, while the taller, bald one carefully released his wrists, trying to set him on his feet. Al nearly collapsed, though, so he picked him up instead, holding him like one would rock a baby. Ed watched with unspeakable relief as his brother gulped in huge amounts of air, holding his arms as best he could while the men stepped out of the cell, looking furious.

"Fudge, what is the meaning of this?" the grey-haired man asked, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I've been an Auror for _decades,_ and I have _never_ seen such treatment by the Ministry! He's only fifteen! What could _possibly_—"

"I told you, they're very dangerous Dark wizards," Fudge said, wringing his hands. "They perform their magic by clapping; we had to be sure his hands couldn't reach—"

"There are chains you could attach to opposite walls," the tall man said, his deep voice sounding very threatening, "or you could have gotten block cuffs. There was absolutely no reason to _crucify_ him! If Edward hadn't heard him when he did—"

The Minister and Umbridge looked rather taken aback. This dark man, apparently, was not one for arguing. "It was an oversight," the toad said at length. "We will see to it that it does not happen again. I will send someone for the chains, and—"

"Dolores, we need to call a Healer!" Bones cried, snapping out of her horrified stupor. "The boy's arms—I can't even _imagine_—it puts such stress on the arms and shoulders—I would be surprised if he can even _move_ them!"

Ed half-listened as they started to argue about who would heal Al's arms, not averting his gaze from his brother and the man holding him. Bones was adamant about calling in Pomfrey from Hogwarts, but Fudge and Umbridge seemed reluctant to do so.

"She's too close to Dumbledore,"Umbridge said, sounding annoyed—and nervous? "He'll ask her where she's going."

"Well, you can tell her to lie, if you're so worried about this getting out," Bones said impatiently. "Just let me call her. It's—what—seven in the morning? It's the weekend, all the students will still be in bed. She won't have anything to do—"

Fudge huffed, apparently getting impatient. "Fine. Make sure she swears to lie to Dumbledore."

"Of course." Bones inclined her head, but Ed heard the annoyance in her voice. He only paid more attention to her when she walked over to Al, smiling apologetically. "I'm so sorry for all of this…I can assure you that this is in no way standard protocol for us. You'll be fixed up in no time."

He smiled back at her. "Thank you, ma'am. And Brother's arm and leg, you said…?"

Ed almost laughed. Al, who was most likely still in quite a lot of pain, was worried more about his automail. Typical…

(He disregarded the fact that if their positions were reversed, he would do the same thing, except louder and more violently.)

"Of course," Bones said immediately, turning to Umbridge. "Make sure Edward's prosthetics are—" She faltered, looking down at Pride in surprise. Apparently, she had not noticed him between everything else that had been happening. "And who might this be?" Her gaze flickered to his hair, then to Ed before focusing on Pride again. "I didn't realize this was any place for _children…_"

"Selim is our prime witness against these two," Fudge said, striding forward. "He has seen their magic in action and can testify against them."

"I see," Bones said, her eyes going sharp as she turned away, making brief eye contact with Ed again. "Well, I will go call Poppy. Dolores, I expect Edward to have all four limbs within the hour. Scrimgeour, Shacklebolt, tell me if he does not, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am," the two men nodded immediately, and the group watched her go.

"Well—Scrimgeour, you'd better go get chains for both of them." Fudge looked very flustered as he turned to the grey-haired man. "Shacklebolt, put him back in his cell until Pomfrey—"

"With all due respect, sir," the dark man said. His voice was much calmer than the last time he had spoken, but Ed still detected a steely note of impatience. "The cells are stone, and there would be no way to set him down without hurting him further."

"Is that true, boy?" Fudge looked at Al, almost daring him to say yes.

Al nodded, looking at him resentfully. "Mister Shacklebolt's telling the truth—my shoulders and wrists, and my ribs are still very sore."

"Well then," Fudge looked rather lost for a moment, "I hope you understand that it seemed the best option at the time. It may have been a bit extreme, but we really have no grasp on your powers—"

"So you thought you'd just ruin his arms altogether, and _suffocate_ him?' Ed said loudly. "Yes, that seems like an excellent plan! Kill the prisoners before the trial so you don't even have to waste the time—"

"Brother," Al said, his tone a mix of exasperation and warning. Shacklebolt also sent him a significant glare, but Ed disregarded both of them.

"Block cuffs are more than enough to keep us at your mercy, like you so obviously want. P—_Selim _should know that, too. You just didn't even want to bother with a trial, is all."

Shacklebolt's eyes went sharp at Ed's "slip-up," and Ed realized why he and Bones looked so familiar. _They're from the Order!_ Ed had to hand it to the old man; he was quick on the uptake, and he had an excellent espionage system set up. As Scrimgeour came back, nodding to Ed and sending a sympathetic glance to Al, he wondered if he was in it as well. Either way, he seemed to be at least halfway decent.

"So," he said after a moment. "You're the guy in charge, and you're his secretary," he nodded to Fudge and Umbridge, "and Bones is the head of the court system. Who are you two?"

"The top Aurors in the country," Scrimgeour said, inclining his head. "The police, or military, if you will."

Ed raised an eyebrow, but he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised. Even if England was not a warmonger of a country, a military was still necessary for defense. "So what do you do during peacetime, then? Like—er—how it's supposed to be now?"

Scrimgeour looked surprised. "Like it's _supposed_ to be? There are rumors of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning, but no solid evidence. If you've even _glanced_ at a newspaper, you'd see—"

The door at the end of the hall slammed open again, and a pair of footsteps nearly _ran_ toward them. Madame Pomfrey soon arrived in Ed's line of vision, glaring daggers at Fudge and Umbridge. "Amelia told me you _crucified_ him—what were you _thinking_—" She seemed furious beyond words, clenching and unclenching her fist around her wand, as if she wanted to curse them both to Hell and back. Ed would have gladly joined her. "Good _God,_ Kingsley, is that him there?"

Shacklebolt nodded, shifting carefully to face her so as not to jolt Al. "Dislocated shoulders, broken wrists…possibly bruised ribs as well, if what Amelia told me is true," she said, glancing over him quickly. "You can't just—that's totally barbaric! That was a _murder_ device from centuries ago!"

"We needed to—"

"Yes, yes, you _needed to keep his hands apart._ I'm sure, if you thought about it for just a _few more seconds_, you could have come up with something just as effective."

"It was an oversight," Umbridge said impatiently. "They're very dang—"

"Yes, I'm _sure_ they are," Pomfrey said as she gently inspected one of Al's wrists. "Amelia said to tell you to get Edward's limbs as well. I'm sure you haven't done that yet…"

Umbridge was silent for a moment, simply looking at the Healer as she continued to fuss over Al. "Very well, then. Scrimgeour, prepare the chains for when this is all done. We've wasted enough time here already…"

Scrimgeour sighed, walking into Al's empty cell as Umbridge made her way down the hall. "Minister, if I may be frank," he said, charming the chains to attach themselves to opposite walls of the cell. "Do you really expect this case to hold up against the Wizengamot? You have your single witness, but the only time either of them have performed magic outside of school was to save that café from Death Eaters. Surely, that cannot be classified as Dark magic—"

"We have several witnesses, actually," Fudge said, though Ed saw him send a nervous glance toward Pride. "Indisputable evidence. They can't possibly ignore eyewitness accounts—"

"They don't seem like Dark wizards to me," Scrimgeour continued, as if he had not spoken. Ed was rather amazed at how he disrespected his superior like that. Sure, _he_ did it, but it wasn't like he was the top general in Amestris—"All I've seen of them so far is perfectly justifiable anger, and loyalty to each other. If Madame Bones decides to bring this whole fiasco to the court's attention—"

"It was an _oversight,_ and we are fixing it," Fudge said, his tone turning harder. Ed saw a dark shadow winding its way up the Minister's leg as he continued—"There is absolutely no reason to bring it up in the—"

"Broken _ribs_ as well?" Pomfrey cut across him, spinning to look incredulously at Fudge. "_Merlin, _Fudge, the boy's bones are weak as paper! You didn't hear them breaking when you strung him up? If he had been like that much longer—"

Ed's worry grew exponentially, and he shifted, trying to get a better view of Al. His face was a normal hue now, though it was still drenched in sweat. He saw Ed looking at him and smiled; it was much brighter than it had been, but it was obvious he was still in a great amount of pain. "Argue later! Just heal him, damnit!" he said loudly, cutting the adults' argument short. "Ribs and shoulders and wrists, right? Or did you bastards do anything else?"

Pomfrey turned back to Al abruptly, waving her wand. "Did you _know_ your bones were this brittle?" she asked Al, frowning as she pointed her wand at his shoulder. "You need to get more calcium—milk, cheese, other dairy products…"

"I thought they might be," Al nodded, his face relaxing bit by bit as she mended his wounds. "I'm doing my best, but—well…"

"As long as you're getting plenty of it daily," she said, her eyes going sharp as he trailed off. "I might suggest getting some potions for that, once you're cleared of these ridiculous charges. There you go," she ended triumphantly, apparently finishing her last spell. "Does anything hurt?"

"No! Thanks very much," he beamed at her, moving one of his arms. "I didn't realize anyone could heal bones that fast; it's really amazing, isn't it?"

She nodded, though Ed saw her eyes flash with confusion. _She doesn't know we're not wizards? How strange…_ "If you were going to use Muggle methods, you'd be out of commission for several months. I'm happy to help."

"Well, put him back, then," Fudge said, gesturing to Al's cell. "Don't want them breaking out, now…"

"I'm sure they're not that stupid," Shacklebolt said, but he set Al down, following him back into the cell and leaning down to fasten the cuffs around his wrists.

"So where's Imabitch with my automail?" Ed asked loudly. Surely, it shouldn't take this long to bring them down?

Pomfrey doubled over quickly, covering her mouth, and two hacking coughs came from Al's cell. "What did you call me, Elric?" the toad's voice carried from down the hall. "For a prisoner, you're not being very submissive to those with power over you."

"I didn't realize being _wrongly imprisoned_ meant we had to lie to those who _think_ they have power over us," Ed shot back, noticing with no small amount of amusement that she was levitating his automail instead of carrying it. "Are they too heavy for you, or something?"

She didn't reply, simply directing the automail toward Pomfrey. "You attach them; the rest of us don't know anything about them. We don't want to fry his nerves, after all…" That would have almost sounded like kindness on her part, had Ed not known the underlying message:

_We're not done with you yet; we still need you functional._

"Of course," Pomfrey said, catching them out of the air and stumbling under the weight. "You'll have to let me in…"

Shacklebolt finally emerged from Al's cell, opening Ed's quickly and following Pomfrey in. He set about putting Ed's left wrist in the cuff while Pomfrey pulled off the right half of his jacket, trying to make sense of his limbs.

"Make sure you line them up right," Ed warned, trying to lean over and see how she was situating it. "It'll hurt even more if you do it wrong, and then you'll just have to reattach it."

"Hurt _more_?" she said sharply, turning to look at him. "When I reattach it, it'll—?"

"_You are innocent, yes?_" Shacklebolt breathed into his left ear as he "fumbled" with his keyring.

"Of course," Ed said immediately. "My nerves are being attached to a piece of _metal_, and you don't think it'll hurt?"

"Well," Pomfrey said, looking rather flustered and turning his arm around, trying to align it correctly. "Is this right, or—?"

"_Do you have any plans to escape?_" Shacklebolt whispered, holding up Ed's left wrist and cuffing it quickly.

"No, I can't—damn this!" Ed tried to lean to his right, yanking violently at the chain now restricting his movement. "There's a release latch—that should be right at the bottom—try and line it up there—"

Shacklebolt nodded minutely, standing up and waiting for Pomfrey to finish with his arm. She seemed to figure out it quickly enough as soon as the Auror had stood; she lined it up correctly, looked at Ed for confirmation, and pushed it in.

He grit his teeth against the electricity shooting through him, but refused to show weakness in front of three known enemies. "Right, cuff me up then," he held up his right hand to Shacklebolt after his coat was back on, grinning wryly.

_We have no idea what to do. Help us out._

He knelt down again and cuffed his wrist quickly, patting Ed's shoulder as he stood up.

_Already on it. Don't worry; you and Al will be fine._

"Ready for your leg, Edward?" Pomfrey caught his attention. She had pushed up his pant leg as far as she could to get a good look at his port.

"Whenever you are."

"Well then!" Fudge said, once the Elrics were alone in their cells again. "Any more complaints? Or is that—"

"I'd hate to ask too much, Mister Minister," Al said, looking up at him from across the hall, "but do you think we could write a letter to our friend Neville at Hogwarts? We can lie about where we are, but he worries…he probably thinks we're dead right about now."

Fudge paused, looking at Umbridge and the two Aurors. "They are allowed a letter, Minister," Scrimgeour said, raising an eyebrow. "Legally, they don't even have to lie—"

"This is a very private case," Fudge said, glancing again at Pride. "If the public knows that two Hogwarts students are Dark wizards—the _uproar_ it would cause—"

"Well, we can lie, then," Ed said impatiently, immediately knowing where Al meant to take this. "We're allowed by law? And surely you don't want to break any _more_ of those—you seem in deep shit as it is—"

Umbridge huffed. "Fine. _One_ letter. But we will read it before it is sent off to make sure you don't tell him anything important." Her sneer said more: _It's not like Longbottom would understand any of it, that idiot._

Ed had to say—Al was _brilliant_ in his choice of recipients. Harry and Ron, curious boys that they were, had probably figured out that something had gone amiss during their trip. And, Ed was sure, they would do their best to get involved. They'd tell everyone they trusted to keep an eye out for him and Al, and Neville was a _perfect_ candidate. He would definitely be told about it, but he was normal enough for Umbridge to overlook him as a threat…and smarter than he seemed.

"Thanks very much," Al nodded, and the group began walking off. Fudge was telling Scrimgeour to pick a lower-ranked Auror to stand guard, and Ed had to hand it to him: he was certainly paranoid enough to be in charge.

"How about Nymphadora Tonks?" Shacklebolt said. "She's a very capa—"

The door shut loudly, cutting off anything else he said, and Ed relaxed back into the wall. "You're sure you're all right, Al?" he asked. "Those bastards really did—"

"That's no way to talk about the people who have total control over you," Pride's voice said from just beyond Ed's line of sight. Al hissed, glaring at a point somewhere to Ed's right, out in the hallway.

"What do you want now?" Al asked, watching rather nervously as shadows wound their way toward the both of them.

"I'll be reading that letter, too," he said calmly, though Ed could almost _hear_ the wicked grin growing across the Homunculus' face. "And if you try anything…" A shadow nudged the cross still hanging at the back of Al's cell, making it creak as it swung back and forth. "Fudge will have no qualms stringing up _real_ Dark wizards. It's easy enough to keep sympathetic people away, and we can heal you right before the trial. It was pure luck that Bones found her way down here, you know."

Ed opened his mouth to yell, to _scream_ at him, that if they did that, he would raise Hell, damn the consequences—

"Shush, Fullmetal Alchemist." A shadow found its way up to his jaw, holding it closed. "You two are still important to me. That is the only reason you are still alive. You cannot win. Don't forget, I'm always watching…"

The shadows withdrew, along with Pride's laughter, and the hall door slammed shut again with an echoing _crash._

Ed and Al could only stare at each other, both minds working furiously. If Pride really was capable of watching several places at once—which Ed wouldn't doubt, given the power of all this _magic_ floating around—everything just got a hell of a lot harder.

_You'd better have a damn good plan, old man._ Because if he didn't, this would end badly for _everyone._


	14. On Eagle's Wings

**XIV**  
**On Eagle's Wings**

"…Sir."

"Yes?"

"What is 'gluckviel'? You cleared the letter, but—"

"An Amestrian greeting. 'May good fortune be with you.'"

"I…see."

"Please do not bother me with such trivial matters again, Miss Umbridge."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

_Hey,_

_Sorry we disappeared like that, without telling you anything. Something came up with our family, and we had to rush home. I don't expect we'll be coming back to Hogwarts…it's pretty serious._

_Just because we're not there to help you doesn't mean you get to slack off! Make sure you keep up on everything we were helping you with. Remember my rule of guessing: if you're not sure, look it up before you try! Catastrophe could happen if you try untested, potentially dangerous stuff. Ask the professor most skilled in that subject: McGonagall, Snape…_

_Secondly! Remember my rule of paranoia: don't underestimate anyone. Especially those Slytherins. They may seem only annoying at first, but don't assume that's all they can do. Being paranoid is better than being badly prepared. You were complaining about that crazy teacher you had last year, but Moony—or whatever his name was—had a point._

_CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_

_We want you to survive to graduate Hogwarts, even if those nasty snake things want you to graduate as a sea slug. That's no fun, right? In any case, if you don't want to be paranoid, you had better learn how to run fast. I'm not sure how well we could tutor a sea slug._

_Good luck with your O.W.L.s! You might be struggling a bit with a few of the classes (hell, there were a couple _we_ found irritating, and we want to learn as much magic as possible!) but I'm sure you'll get through fine._

_Sorry we couldn't spend more time getting to know you! We'll be busy with the family for quite a while, but feel free to keep in touch._

_Gluckviel,  
Ed and Al_

* * *

It was Monday morning, the second day after the Elrics' disappearance. Hermione, Harry, and Ron were all staring at the letter on the breakfast table; Neville sat next to them nervously. "Do you…think it's really them?" Harry asked, scanning over the letter again. "It looks like Ed's handwriting, but it's so—I dunno—useless? I guess we know they're alive, but…"

Hermione nodded slowly, looking over the messy writing on the parchment again. Then, something sparked her memory, and she gasped. "Look at the signature!"

"…Gluckviel?" Ron said, furrowing his brow. "Where have I heard that before…?"

"It's Amestrian!" Hermione hissed. "They _said_ it meant that they needed help. But it's coded, just like that book. It actually translates to 'sincerely,' or 'yours truly,' or something. I expect they did it to get past the Ministry and…" _Pride._ Harry and Ron nodded, understanding finally dawning.

"Uh…" Neville said tentatively, looking utterly lost. "I didn't know whether to show it to you, there didn't seem like there was anything important…just that they were alive…but you said anything from them—"

"No, this is brilliant, mate!" Ron said, slapping him on the back. "Good thing you were chummy with Ed—I doubt Umbridge would have allowed a letter to one of us!"

"What does Umbridge have to do with this?" he asked, looking baffled. "They said there was a family—"

"But they don't _have_ any family," Harry said sharply, looking to Hermione for confirmation. "Didn't they say it was just the two of them—?"

"That's the _point,_" she said in a low voice, reading over the letter yet again. "The _entire thing_ is coded. Everything they wrote has a double meaning. Hopefully we'll be able to figure out what they really mean…"

Ron snorted, looking a little nervous. "They know we're all not as brilliant as them, right? If they expect us to figure out something _they_ coded, they're screwed, because—"

"I'm sure they simplified it a bit. As long as _he_ and Umbridge cleared it…yes, see, they're talking about classes and such, and things they mentioned over the summer that _he_ wouldn't know—"

The warning bell rang, causing all four of them to jump. "I'll work on this in class," she decided, slipping the letter into her bag and standing up. "I'll trust you guys with taking notes in History and Transfiguration if I'm not finished…once we figure out what they're saying, we'll have to bring it to one of the professors…" Her mind was running at full capacity, thinking of who would be best. Umbridge would be suspicious if she was in Dumbledore's office—if _any_ of them were—Snape was out of the question—not many of the other teachers were full-fledged members—

McGonagall, of course. Transfiguration was right before lunch; she could talk to her then—

Which meant she had three hours to decode the letter that had fooled _Pride._

She trailed behind her friends, already deep in thought as they made their way toward the History classroom. If she knew anything about the Elrics, it was that they were the smartest people she had ever met. There were things coded on the surface, surely, but there would be more to it than that. They had known Neville would show them the letter—so would they allude to things from the past summer? Only things members of the Order would know about…

She sat with the three boys at the back of the classroom, pulling out the letter and a blank roll of parchment as Binns began his lecture. It was easy enough to ignore his droning voice, and she quickly set about picking out the obvious things first.

Family—they had no family. At least, not where they could reach. So who—why—

Pride was the only logical answer, if he was from where they were. If they said they were "visiting" family—_Pride_ was the one that kidnapped them? Serious issues—he's dangerous—so they were planning to go fight with the Order. But Pride got them first—he wanted to keep them from fighting against him? Or did he _need_ them for something?

She barely noticed as she filled up the first roll of parchment, only nodding absently in thanks as Harry slid another in front of her. Ron was snoring on her right, but then, so was the rest of the class. She had to figure this out—_fast_—their lives hung in the balance—and if Dumbledore was as worried as Harry and Ron said he was—

She didn't put the letter away as the bell rang and they headed off to Transfiguration, only stuffing her notes in her bag and trusting Harry and Ron to lead her away from walls and other students. She was sure she had figured out the surface messages—Pride had them—the situation was dire—keep up on your studies—but the paragraph about the O.W.L.s—

_Defense!_ Both Elrics had hated that class—hated Umbridge—was she involved in this, too? Umbridge—the Ministry, certainly—she was _irritating,_ they said—did that mean they were facing off against her as well?

Pride—and the Ministry—_Pride's controlling the Ministry—_

She made a mad dive for her quill and notes as soon as she was situated in the back of McGonagall's classroom, scribbling more. The Order had to know—if the only monster the Elrics feared was controlling the government—Fudge was a pushover; he was keeping quiet about Voldemort's return; he would easily kneel to Pride's demands—

She stopped writing mid-word, blotting her notes terribly, but she paid it no heed as that last thought ran through her head again. They were _keeping quiet_ about his return—but surely, they had to admit that it was the only thing that made sense—they _knew_ he was back, but denied it to the public—she wouldn't be surprised if Voldemort was forcing the Minister's hand—

Voldemort was controlling the Ministry—Pride was controlling the Ministry—

_Voldemort and Pride are working together—_

She flipped loudly back to the letter. Third and fourth paragraph—yes, they mentioned Slytherins—snakes—Voldemort was a snake, owned a snake, and Pride controlled shadows—_which looked like snakes_—

She vaguely heard her name being called, but she paid no attention as her brain kicked into higher gear. If that was buried so deep—what _else_ had they—?

Ron elbowed her sharply in the ribs, and she looked up, wide-eyed. "Miss Granger, have you been paying attention to the lecture?" Professor McGonagall asked, looking stern and perhaps a bit surprised.

"Of—of course, Professor." It was a lie. She knew that; the class knew that; McGonagall knew that. She had always been a terrible liar. But she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment—

Pride—and Voldemort—she was sure she looked just as terrified as she felt, but that didn't matter—no Slytherins in this class—only Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs—nobody would be reporting to _them_—

"Well, then you could certainly tell me what horrendous error Bartolomeo Ferraro made in the thirteenth century while researching untested transfigurations?"

_Ferraro_—she knew that name—but in the jumble of terror and horrified revelations, her mind couldn't quite come up with a suitable answer. "I don't—I don't remember, Professor," she was able to choke out. Her hands were trembling, and she felt on the verge of hysterics—class was ten minutes in—_just over an hour left_—and she had barely cracked the surface of this letter. _I'm running out of time—_

"Are you feeling all right?" the professor asked sharply, walking toward their desk. "Miss Granger, you're pale as a ghost—"

Everything was going so fast, _so fast—_McGonagall's voice, her breathing, the ticking of the clock, Harry's and Ron's chairs scraping the floor as they turned to her—time was speeding up, she wasn't going to get it done in time, she'd lose her opportunity to talk to McGonagall—she couldn't risk talking to her outside of class—she wouldn't have Transfiguration again until _Wednesday_—by then it'd be too late—

"Hermione!" Ron said, shaking her shoulder violently, and it grounded her in reality, just a bit. Nothing was slowing down, _time is running out—_

"Take her to the Hospital Wing," she vaguely heard McGonagall's voice say—too fast, _far too fast,_ Hermione could barely understand her—"Be careful, she looks about to pass out—"

Harry carefully stood her up while Ron stuffed her notes—precious, dangerous, _world-changing_ notes—into her bag. She did not relinquish her grip on the letter, though, so Ron simply shouldered her bag, took her other arm, and led her out of the classroom.

Her friends were talking to her, trying to calm her down, figure out what was wrong, but she was too far gone, trying to decode more of the letter. She had memorized it after poring over it for two hours, and she couldn't waste a single second of the precious few that they had left.

She didn't remember the trip to the Hospital Wing; she simply found herself lying on a bed, letter crumpled tight in her fist, Madame Pomfrey leaning over her in alarm. "Miss Granger! Can you hear me? What's wrong? There's nothing wrong with your body, it's mental, you need to calm down—"

Hermione merely shook her head, attempting to sit up. "Give me my notes," she said, and she was surprised at how steady her voice sounded. Everything was slowing down now; she was getting enough oxygen; she tuned back into the world around her. "I'm not done. There's still more—"

"You are in no condition to work!" the nurse said sharply, pushing her back onto the pillows. "Transfiguration is _not_ that important; I'll need to get you a calming draught if you don't stop—"

"I _need_ to! There's still more—I need to—they'll _die_ if I don't—" She reached toward Ron imploringly, and he hesitated before handing her bag over.

"Really, Madame Pomfrey, this is important," he said as she opened her mouth to object. "It's…"

Hermione paid no heed to the ensuing argument, pulling out the notes and writing more as her mind overflowed with information.

Pride—Voldemort—Ministry—all connected—can't trust any of them—have to learn to defend ourselves, if they're planning war—we have no chance otherwise—

Madame Pomfrey's hand came out of nowhere, trying to rip the parchment from her grasp, but Hermione would not allow it; she gripped it tighter, but all that accomplished was tearing her notes in two. She would have yelled, _screamed,_ except she had only ripped away a part that was long-completed; she was already working on the next section—Pomfrey _had_ to give them back to her at some point—

"Miss Granger! You need to calm down, or I will be forced to Stun you!"

_That _made her pause. Stunners could knock the victim out for anywhere between a few minutes and a few hours, depending on the force of the spell. She didn't have that kind of time—she had to—

"Please, ma'am, this is really important. The letter—"

"Letter?" she asked sharply, turning to Harry. "A letter from whom?"

Pause. "Just a couple of friends who don't go here anymore," Hermione said, not looking up. If she was siding with Pride, she would know of it already, know that Pride had passed it, and wouldn't question it. But if she was still waiting to hear news—

"Fudge allowed it, then?" she sounded rather surprised, but her eyes flashed with understanding. "With all the other laws he's broken concerning those two—"

That was _not_ an answer Hermione was expecting. Ron came to the obvious conclusion before her, though—"You've seen them since Saturday? Are they all right? How'd you get—"

"They are _now,_" she huffed. "Fudge must have come to his senses, if they were able to send a letter…if I ever—"

"Where did you see them?" Hermione pressed, finally looking up. Any clues about them would be a huge help…

"I had to heal Alphonse's arms and reattach Edward's limbs," she said, a dark look crossing her face. "It was—"

"_Reattach his limbs?_" Ron said hoarsely, his eyes big as Galleons. "They cut off—"

"No, someone else got to them first. I worked with his prosthetics."

Hermione realized rather belatedly that she had not told Harry and Ron about Ed's arm and leg, but that didn't matter now. They knew that Ed and Al were alive and safe—at least for the moment—so she had to focus all of her attention on decoding exactly what they were trying to tell her and the others. A quick glance at the clock told her that she had just under an hour before class got out—

"Madame Pomfrey," she said suddenly, "do you think you could call Professor McGonagall to come up here? I want to know what I missed in class…" She didn't look up as she continued to scrawl down notes. That would buy her a few precious minutes, but the fact remained that there was _so much more_ to figure out—

"I need to talk to Minerva as well, actually. It won't be any trouble."

The hour flew by faster than Hermione could have ever imagined, but so did her notes. She didn't know how the Elrics had managed to pack everything into such a short letter, but they had; by the time the lunch bell rang and Pomfrey hurried off to Floo McGonagall, she had consolidated the important parts onto three small rolls of parchment. She handed one each to Harry and Ron, who both looked baffled, reading the parchment quickly. "Follow my lead," she said quietly as the two women emerged from the office.

"Miss Granger, are you feeling well enough to learn the lesson?" McGonagall asked worriedly, walking quickly to stand at the foot of her bed.

"Of course, Professor. I'm sorry about what happened in class." She wasn't sorry, not really—if she hadn't figured it out, they'd all be doomed—"Here's my essay from last week; I'm sorry I didn't get to turn it in before we had to leave." She held out the roll of parchment expectantly.

"…Thank you," McGonagall said, looking rather lost as she accepted the notes. "Potter, Weasley, do you have yours ready to turn in as well?"

"Uh…yeah, here, Professor," Harry said, sending Hermione a questioning look as he and Ron handed over their "essays."

McGonagall accepted them quickly, glancing over the top of Hermione's before sending her a sharp glance. She had obviously picked up on the ruse, though, and said nothing about it. Instead—"Poppy, you said you needed to speak to me as well?" she said, tucking the notes into an inside pocket of her robes.

"Yes…you are not Alphonse's Head of House, but I understand that you met him over the summer? I'm quite concerned about his physical state…when I—er—healed his broken arm last week, I found that his bones are remarkably brittle. Do you know anything that could shed light on that…?"

Hermione tuned out their discussion in favor of turning back to her original, nearly illegible notes. The main message was clear among all the smaller things they mentioned—trust no one but known supporters of the Order—keep up on your studies—act like everything is normal—

_Train for war._

And the ending message was clear: _keep in touch._ Once they were with the Order again, even if the adults would tell her, Harry, and Ron nothing of the situation, Ed and Al would.

She filed her notes neatly away in her bag, leaning forward and turning toward Harry and Ron. "I was thinking—maybe we should start a sort of…study group…"

* * *

To Ed's great relief, Pride and Umbridge had cleared the letter to be sent to Neville. It wasn't quite as necessary as it could have been—Shacklebolt had said they already had a plan to get them out—but there were still important bits hidden between the lines.

They had made it quite clear that Neville—and all the other students—needed to keep up on their studies and learn to defend themselves before all Hell broke loose. Everyone always said that Hogwarts was the best-protected place in the world—nobody could possibly get in if Dumbledore didn't allow it—but with Umbridge working there…

He leaned back against the wall of his cell with a sigh. It had been three days since they had woken up in the bowels of the Ministry, and absolutely nothing had happened yet. The scruffy-looking man standing guard outside their cells—Dawlish—rarely spoke to them, and the young woman who brought them meals (whose brightly colored hair seemed to change daily) always seemed to be in a rush.

Today, apparently, was different.

"Kingsley was saying that your trial's tomorrow," she said, squatting between Ed and Dawlish as she set the tray within reach of his right hand. "I'm not sure who's going to testify for you—you might be on your own—"

"Tonks," Dawlish said, his eyes flashing as he turned toward them. "They have no business—"

"C'mon, Dawlish, it's their own trial," 'Tonks' said, laughing. "And they have to know what's going on. It's not fair if they don't!"

"You can't tell me you actually think they're _innocent!_" the older man said incredulously. "All the witnesses they have—"

"Innocent until proven guilty," she said cheerfully before turning back to Ed. "Hey, you think I could see your automail? I've heard about it from the higher-ups, but…" She grabbed his right arm hopefully, staring at him with big green eyes.

"Whatever," he shrugged, and she pushed up his sleeve excitedly.

"Wow! And it's just as good as any other arm, right? That's incredible!" She moved down to his hand, holding it up, her face shining with interest.

"Pretty much," Ed said, watching rather bemusedly as she took a special interest in his pinky finger. She was bending one of the joints, peering inside the knuckle—

Taking out one of the screws?

As she stood up, palming the screw and beaming at him, he had to wonder what the purpose of _that_ was. It was in the most useless finger, and it wasn't even a vital screw; he could move it just fine. She winked one dark eye at him before turning to bring Al his meal.

_Hang on._

Hadn't her eyes been green a minute ago?

Ed did not make it a habit to stare into strange women's eyes, but they had been such a ridiculously bright green that he had wondered if it was natural. She changed her eye color? But how—?

_Metamorphmagus._ He remembered the term coming up in conversation over the summer, that Tonks was one—so this woman was in the Order as well? How deep did the old man's system _go?_

Ed saw Tonks slip the screw onto Al's tray as she handed it to him. "Well, make sure you two are ready for the trial," she said, absent-mindedly tapping the fingertips of her right hand together as she let herself out of the cell. "Get plenty of rest, make sure your mind's sharp, all that."

"Tonks," Dawlish said warningly, and she laughed, heading down the hall. She was still tapping her thumb and forefinger together, and Ed wondered for a moment what she meant by that. Surely, it had some sort of significance…

Then he put it together. She was using her _right_ hand—his automail—and had smuggled a screw across to Al. Two things that could easily scratch—carve into—wood or stone. _They want us to draw circles._ But when—what kind—?

"How is the trial going to work, Mister Dawlish?" Al asked, sending Ed a glance before focusing his attention on the Auror. He had obviously come to the same conclusion as Ed, but they needed more information. Tonks kept mentioning the trial—obviously, they had to wait for tomorrow—but what were they supposed to do? Make a small distraction? Blow up the building?

The man glared, but Al just looked at him innocently. He eventually huffed. "Shacklebolt and I will escort you to the courtroom, where you and the prosecution will present your cases to the Wizengamot. I'll be guarding you throughout the whole trial, and you'll be restrained in magic-cancelling chairs, so don't even _think_ of doing that—weird magic you do," he finished rather lamely, trying to cover it up with a stern glare.

That was plenty of information for Ed and Al, though; if they were to be restrained in a couple of chairs, then it was clear what they were expected to do. How they would get past Dawlish—and Pride and everyone else—once they were free was a mystery to Ed, though.

_He'd better have it planned out better than this._ But, Ed had to admit, everything else had gone flawlessly so far. They could only hope that their luck carried through the trial.

* * *

Bright and early the next morning, Dawlish and Shacklebolt showed up to bring them to the courtroom. Ed saw Al push the screw up through his sleeve before they began walking; he hoped nobody would bother to check out the small, metallic glint visible from the right angle.

"So what happens once we're found innocent?" Ed asked cheerfully, looking over at Dawlish. He rolled his eyes—that same strange green that Tonks' had been—and answered,

"If you _are,_ which I sincerely doubt, your record will be cleared and you will be sent back to Hogwarts."

"And…if we're not?" Al asked, a hint of trepidation seeping into his voice.

"You'll go off to Azkaban, I expect," he shrugged. Ed noticed with a start that his eyes were suddenly dark, just like they had been for the past few days.

_Oh, hell._ Her transforming powers were that powerful?

He only had a moment to ponder the fact that they would be sent to Azkaban—the prison that Voldemort (and by extension, Pride) controlled—before they finally entered the courtroom. It was set up like a coliseum, with seats rising in a semi-circle before two heavy wooden chairs. Ed barely kept from grinning; carving a circle into those would be child's play.

"Dawlish" secured Ed's hands to the arms of the chair as more chains appeared from nowhere to wrap his legs to it. He glanced over at Al, who had subtlely retrieved the screw from his sleeve while Shacklebolt made sure his bonds were secure.

Ed had to hand it to these Order people—they were damn good at acting.

Once Dawlish moved from in front of him, standing behind their chairs and putting a cautionary hand on both his and Al's shoulders, Ed surveyed the room more carefully. Bones was there, front and center, smiling reassuringly at them. Umbridge and Fudge were to one side, conversing quietly. Pride sat in front of them, watching the proceedings with a bored look on his face. Ed didn't miss the unnatural shadows barely peeking out all around the edges of the room.

The rest of the wizards—the Wizengamot—were looking down at him and Al with surprise on their faces. More than one sent a nervous glance in the Minister's direction, but none of them spoke up before Fudge called the court to order. "Criminal trial on the twentieth of October for offenses threatening the health and safety of wizards and Muggles alike, committed by Edward and Alphonse Elric…"

Ed barely refrained from rolling his eyes as the preliminaries continued. The Minister listed off several important-sounding people as the interrogators, as well as "Selim Bradley" and a few terrified-looking others as witnesses for the prosecution.

He finally finished, taking a deep breath, but an old witch seated near the back called down—"Are there no witnesses for the defense?"

"Well, we didn't even know we had to stand trial until four days ago, and we've been in your basement ever since," Ed answered loudly. "Didn't give us much chance to even figure out what we're being _accused_ of."

A few people began whispering to each other, and more than a few sent doubtful glances in Fudge's direction. Al sent him a sharp look, though, and Dawlish's grip tightened on his shoulder. He absent-mindedly began scratching the makings of a circle on the inside of the chair with his thumb as Fudge continued—

"Well, I'm sure you will be able to defend yourselves well enough." He looked rather flustered as he looked down at his roll of parchment again. "The charges against the accused are as follows: that they did knowingly and willingly commit Dark magic, threatening the lives of both wizards and Muggles; that they did conspire with other Dark wizards to bring great harm to the country with an unknown, dangerous branch of Dark magic; that they did bring great physical harm to a group of Muggles on the fourth of August while attacking a small suburban restaurant…"

Ed rolled his eyes as the list of offenses went on and on, wishing they'd hurry up and convict them already. Half of the outer circle was done now, and nobody seemed any wiser to their plan; Pride was busy smirking as Fudge continued to ramble on, and nobody else would be looking for such a thing…

"You are Edward and Alphonse Elric of…er…Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, yes?" Fudge finally finished, looking rather confused as he realized they had no address.

"Yes, sir," Al said, obviously trying to make a good impression on the rest of the court.

"You arrived in this country on the twenty-second of July; is that correct?"

"Yes," Ed said, figuring even if that hadn't been the exact date, it was close enough. But what did that have to do with—?

"You arrived from a foreign, unheard-of country that specializes in a branch of magic that nobody in Britain has any knowledge of?"

"Sure." Ed flopped back in his seat, the outer circle completed. It was clear that they were not going to win the trial; with the way the members of the Wizengamot were glancing at Pride, he was sure they all had been threatened into convicting them.

"You will show respect to the Minister of Magic, boy," Umbridge said from her seat at Fudge's right hand.

"Right. Well—"

"_Brother,_" Al hissed, then turned to the Wizengamot. "I'm sorry, Edward gets impatient very easily."

"So it would seem." Umbridge smirked nastily down at them. "If we could continue, then…"

Ed bit back a nasty retort—she had been the one to interrupt, after all—and glared up at Fudge expectantly.

"Yes," he said, bringing his parchment close to his nose again. "You were both at Costa's Café on the fourth of August, where you aided a group of Dark wizards in killing several—"

"I _saved_ that café," Ed butted in sharply. "If I hadn't fought back—"

"Eyewitnesses will testify to the contrary," Fudge said, not even looking up from the parchment. "Edward committed this crime, while Alphonse was knocked out early in the battle by one Augusta Longbottom, who barely fended them off before Aurors arrived—"

"Call her in!" Ed roared, leaning forward in his chair again. "Ask her what happened! You're spewing a load of—"

Dawlish's grip tightened on his shoulder, and Al made a loud noise in his throat. "That will not be necessary," Umbridge said. "You two, surely, will be able to testify for yourselves—"

"Not if you don't give them a fair chance to testify, Dolores," Bones—wonderful woman that she was—cut her off. "If you're just going to disregard every word they say, that's hardly fair testimony."

Ed saw a shadow go up the front of her podium and grab a hold of her leg. She flinched visibly, sending a derisive glance down at Pride before continuing—"This is the most ridiculous trial I have _ever_ presided over. They're _children._ This isn't just some silly case of underage magic; do you really believe that fourth and fifth years would be willing and able to perform Dark magic?"

She seemed about to say more, but then Ed saw shadows snaking up around her _neck._ She snapped her mouth shut suddenly, glancing at Pride again.

"Mister Minister, it's only logical," Al spoke up, glaring harshly in Pride's direction. "If you would just let us call someone in—"

"We have already established that that will not be necessary," Fudge said, looking sternly down at the two of them. "If that is all from Madame Bones, the Ministry will call forward _its_ witnesses to testify."

Pride stood up, his face as innocent as ever. "Where should I stand, Minister?"

"Right where you are is fine," Fudge said, sending him a nervous glance. "Selim Bradley, correct? You were present for the attack on the fourth of August?"

"Yes, sir." Pride definitely looked the part of the nervous ten year old, staring with wide eyes around the room. "My father and I were in line to eat breakfast when a big group of men in black hoods came in and started hurting people. And then _he,_" he pointed to Ed, "got up and helped them."

It wasn't very detailed testimony, and Ed was sure that in any other court, it would be thrown out immediately. But apparently, in the Wizengamot—"Do you remember what Edward did, exactly?" an old man with a huge moustache asked, obviously trying to make the trial as normal as possible.

"He—blocked everyone into a small area and then started attacking them with a knife and spikes he made out of the ground." Ed was almost impressed; Pride's eyes were welling up with tears. "Lots of people were hurt, and he even _killed_ a couple; it was terrible!"

There were three other witnesses—one was apparently a first-year Slytherin at Hogwarts. He told the court with a shaking voice and several nervous glances at Ed and Al how they had threatened him and other first years, and how they had broken into the Restricted Section of the library to research the Dark Arts. When he sat down again, nobody looked convinced by his testimony, but the entire Wizengamot was too terrified of Pride to bring it to light.

Two witnesses later (old women who had apparently met and been threatened by Ed and Al over the summer), Fudge seemed finished. Ed put the finishing touches on his deconstruction circle and waited for the moment he would have to activate it. He knew very little of courts in general, but from what he had been able to glean from Hughes' work in the Investigations Office, trials tended to take several weeks, even months. A quick glance at the clock at the front of the room revealed that not even an hour had passed.

Obviously, the trial was a farce, something the Ministry could put on paper to ward away any questions about their conviction.

"Does the defense have anything to say?" Bones said in a strained voice. The shadows were gone from around her throat, but Ed was sure Pride had a tight grip on the rest of her.

Ed looked over to Al, who nodded minutely. _My circle's done. Wait for a signal from Tonks._

"Just that those witnesses are either lying or delusional," Ed said, shrugging nonchalantly. "I have no idea where you came up with this shit, but—"

"Very well then; we can go ahead and decide the verdict," Fudge said loudly over Ed's indignant rebuttal. The judges all around the room were whispering to each other, glancing between Ed, Al, and Pride. Many of them had despairing looks on their faces as they fell silent, looking down at them apologetically.

It was decided even before the voting began; the Wizengamot was wound tight around Pride's little finger. There would be no way the two of them would be acquitted. Ed carefully positioned his thumb to rest on his circle, ready to activate it in a split-second.

Eventually, the whispers died down, and Fudge sat up a bit straighter. "Those in favor of conviction?"

There was a pause during which only a few hands rose into the air. As the seconds trickled by and several unnatural shadows seemed to find their way onto the judges' desks, more hands announced their guilt. After several seconds, every judge had raised his hand. A few looked triumphant; a few, terrified; a few, furious; a few, nauseous and on the verge of tears.

"That settles it, then," Fudge said, standing up decisively and banging his gavel. "Dawlish, Shacklebolt, escort them to the holding cells until—"

Tonks' grip became almost painful on Ed's shoulder: an unmistakable signal. He and Al simultaneously activated the deconstruction circles, illuminating the room with flashes of blue. Everything happened so fast; Fudge started yelling orders; the Wizengamot was in chaos, trying to find out what was happening; the chair and shackles collapsed beneath Ed, and he stood up quickly.

Pride's scream of rage was cut off by Tonks' abrupt twist, and Ed felt a shadow slice his arm open before the courtroom disappeared into darkness.

_._

_._

_._

_._

* * *

_Fire._

A form that has no true substance but is capable of influencing everything within its reach. With its nearly supernatural energy, it is unstoppable once it begins its blazing. Such passion, such willpower, is rarely found and highly prized, but in the wrong hands, it will bring about nothing but tragedy.

* * *

.

.

.

.


	15. Doomherald

**XV**  
**Doomherald**

"Professor, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course, Miss Granger," McGonagall said immediately, stacking some papers on her desk and standing up. "In my office?"

Hermione followed her quickly to the side door leading to the professor's private chambers, her mind teeming with questions. It was Wednesday the twenty-first, and nobody had heard anything new about the Elrics or the state of the government. Even if the Order—McGonagall among them—was reluctant to let them in on anything, they'd _have_ to tell them about any issues of security, right?

"So, what is it you need?" The professor sat down behind her desk, offering Hermione a tin of cookies. She took one gratefully, nibbling on the edge as she tried to decide where to start. Harry had voiced no qualms about tutoring others once she had explained the gravity of the situation, but there was still the matter of Umbridge—the Ministry—Voldemort—_Pride._

Deciding to start with the simplest question—"How are Ed and Al? Have you gotten them out yet?"

McGonagall quickly waved her wand at the door to the hall, muttering what Hermione recognized to be a muffling charm. "Their 'trial' was yesterday. They were convicted, but Miss Tonks was able to get them to Headquarters before Pride got to them, so they're safe…for now."

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. With the way the country was right now, she was surprised that they had been given a trial at all…but that eased her more personal worries. "And Pride? Do you know anything more about him?"

She paused, looking at Hermione for a moment before sighing. "That does not concern you quite yet. He has made no obvious moves toward the offensive, so we really have no idea—"

"But Ed and Al have fought him before, right?" Hermione pressed. "And now that they're at Headquarters—you_ still_ don't know anything about him? I don't believe that!"

She was rather surprised at herself for the disrespectful tone she was using, but this problem far transcended a teacher-student relationship. Even if she was sixteen and McGonagall was nearing eighty, they were both fighting on the same side of this war. If they expected to win, the Order needed to put a little more trust in the younger generation.

_Who knows; Pride might even be controlling students. We. Can't. Trust. Anyone._

McGonagall sighed again, looking Hermione straight in the eye before continuing—"They told us a few things—first and foremost, that Pride and Voldemort are working together to control the Ministry. He is quite possibly omnipresent; any unprotected place with enough magic in the air is unsafe; he could be watching it."

_Bingo._ "So he could be watching Hogsmeade," she said. That was one thing she had needed to check; they would have to relocate their group meeting to somewhere in Hogwarts, then. But where…?

She nodded, her face grave. "He should not be able to penetrate Hogwarts unless someone specifically allows him in, and Headquarters should be safe. But anywhere else—Hogsmeade, the train—you must be careful what you say and do."

Hermione nodded, thinking hard. _Where_ could they set up the initial meeting? If the Hogsmeade weekend was out, where else could nearly three dozen people meet without attracting undue attention…?

"Thank you, Professor," she said, standing up and bowing her head. "If anything else comes up, could you please let one of us know?"

McGonagall smiled. "We shall see, Miss Granger."

* * *

In the end, it was Dobby who told them where they could hold the meetings. The three of them had been rather at a loss for where in the castle they could practice, and even Fred and George had not had any plausible ideas. But when Dobby had shown up to clean the common room late one night while they were up talking, he had suggested this "Room of Requirement" on the seventh floor.

Now, as she, Harry, and Ron stood inside it before their first meeting, Hermione knew it would be _perfect._

"Er—_how_ many people are coming to this, exactly?" Harry asked, sitting down on one of the cushions at the front of the room. It was a casual question, but Hermione had known her friend for too long; he was terribly nervous about this. It wasn't even the dangerous, illegal, life-threatening situations they were getting themselves into that worried him; it was the prospect of being in charge of so many people.

"Anyone who seemed interested," she shrugged. "There were more than I expected, but then, Voldemort and Pride were pretty active over the summer. I expect people are worried."

Harry's brow creased, and she hurriedly continued—"You'll be fine, I promise. I talked to Lee, Fred and George's friend—he said he knows a bit of martial arts, so he can help us with that kind of stuff. We'll need to be in shape if we go up against Pride…"

Privately, she hoped that it would never happen, that the Elrics or Dumbledore or _someone_ would be able to beat him, but they could not rule the possibility out. _Shadows that can cut through anything…_She wondered briefly if that was how Ed lost his arm and leg. She could not suppress a shudder at the thought.

Harry opened his mouth to say more, but the door opened, and several people Hermione recognized came walking in—along with a few that she did _not_. She watched in mild surprise (Harry's eyes were widening in horror) as the room eventually filled to hold at least forty students of all ages, talking amongst themselves as they took their seats on cushions spread out on the floor.

Four o'clock arrived, and Hermione supposed they had better get started. "Hey," she said loudly. The chatter died down as everyone looked up at her expectantly. She felt a sudden rush of vertigo—she had _never_ been good at speaking in front of crowds—but mustered up enough courage to continue, "Well, I hope you all know why we're here. With a war ready to begin, we need to—"

"Who says anyone's plotting war?" a blonde Hufflepuff drawled from the back row. Hermione did not recognize him immediately, but countered—

"We do, and Dumbledore does. If you only came here to talk about whether Voldemort's back, I suggest you leave, because we have _much_ more important business to discuss."

"Hear, hear," Fred said, turning to the Hufflepuff with a glare. "C'mon, Smith, this is a lot bigger than just your ego. If we—"

"_Thank_ you, Fred," Hermione said loudly. "Er—Smith, we don't have time to question whether this is happening, because it already is. I'm sure you've all seen the papers over the past few months?"

Everyone was nodding, looking rather nervous. There had been some truly horrendous stories—people chopped into pieces, missing altogether, not to mention the _magical_ deaths—

"Well, we have good reason to believe that those were committed by Voldemort—" she rolled her eyes at the reaction to the name—"and his accomplice named Pride, who is at _least_ as dangerous as he is."

Pause. "_I've_ never heard of that guy," Ernie Macmillan said, as if his ignorance meant that it did not exist. "Where'd he come from? What can he do?"

"As Edward and Alphonse told us, he—"

"Where are they, anyway?" Michael Corner piped up. Hermione realized that he must have been one of Al's roommates. "They've been gone for a _week_, no sign of them or anything—"

"They've gone to fight Pride," Hermione said, deciding to abbreviate the story. "They're the only ones who know anything about him, really. But that's not the point—what we need to do is train in _proper_ Defense—not what Umbridge is 'teaching' us—" she heard murmurs of agreement throughout the room—"and the only way to do that is to teach each other. If we're going to survive, that is."

No one, not even Smith, spoke up to disagree with her. "This is bigger than school, bigger than O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, and bigger than any of us," Harry said, apparently heartened by the lack of opposition. "If we want to survive, we're going to have to learn how to fight. And, according to Ed and Al, it wouldn't hurt to get ourselves in shape. Lee said he would help with that…?" His eyes sought out the dark-skinned boy, who nodded quickly.

"I think it goes without saying that this doesn't get out to Umbridge, or anyone that would tell her," Hermione said quickly. "We need to stay safe and active, and with her prowling around…If anyone else wants to join after today, have them talk to me, and we'll get it all figured out." She withdrew a roll of parchment for everyone to sign their names. She had set it up to jinx anyone who betrayed them…but nobody else needed to know that.

"If we could keep a running list of everyone attending, so nobody unsuspected sneaks in…" She pulled out a quill meaningfully, signing her own name, and everyone quickly lined up to sign as well. A few were hesitant, but after Hermione assured them that she wouldn't exactly be leaving it around for Umbridge to find, they signed without complaint.

Eventually, she, Harry, and Ron were alone in the room again. They all had set up a meeting for that weekend, when they would start learning defensive spells… _Let's hope they actually work against Pride…_

"That went a lot better than I thought it would," Ron said, laughing and relaxing back into his chair. "See, Harry, people are taking you seriously! After what You-Know-Who and Pride did over the summer…"

"Yeah, I guess you're right, huh?" Harry let a small grin slip onto his worried features. "Now we just have to figure out a way to keep in touch with forty people without—"

"I've already got an idea," Hermione said, the cogs in her brain turning quickly. It would take some practice—it was a N.E.W.T. charm, after all—but if she could charm fake Galleons to change to show the date and time of the next meeting—

Ron laughed. "That's our Hermione!"

But as the three of them made their way back to the common room, Hermione could not rid herself of the nagging feeling that something was horribly, horribly wrong.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Fire.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

She just couldn't quite…put her finger on it…

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Destruction...}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

She'd just have to make sure Umbridge didn't hear even a whisper of their plans. She would surely tell Pride, and the only thing standing between Pride and Hogwarts was Dumbledore himself.

And who knew how long it would be before even _he_ was brought down?

* * *

The first official meeting of Dumbledore's Army—as it had been named—went off without a hitch. They had decided to meet for an hour, twice a week: one lesson in magical defense, and one in physical. She had finished the Galleons by the second meeting, and passed them out as Lee was explaining what he could try to teach them all.

"As I understand it, we need to be able to move, _fast_," he said, glancing at Harry for confirmation. "And, well, I'm not any sort of gymnast, so if any of you know stuff like that…but I can work on your endurance. That's where we'd have to start, anyway…"

Soon, the Room of Requirement had transformed itself into a large track, and everyone had shucked their outer robes, beginning to run around it. Hermione was huffing and puffing after a single lap—and wasn't that supposed to be only a quarter of a mile?

The Room supplied bottles of water and cold towels, but the fact remained that her legs very nearly gave out on her after a second lap.

"That's—uh—probably good for now," Lee yelled, and everyone sighed hugely in relief, sitting heavily on the ground. Hermione was a bit heartened to see that she was not the only one totally wiped out, but it still revealed the glaring problem that _Pride could easily kill any of us._

"Well, we've got a long way to go, then," Lee said, sitting down in front of them. He looked only a bit winded—much better than anyone else. "If you run every day, your endurance'll go up. Once you can run a mile just fine, we can probably get started on more. Now, uh, well, we should have done this earlier, but…"

Lee led them through several stretches that tortured muscles Hermione didn't even know she _had_, and she had the sudden, fleeting thought that it was probably a good thing Ed and Al weren't there to make fun of them. She had seen the two of them doing stretches one morning over the summer, and their bodies had bended so far that she thought they would snap in half.

She looked forlornly at the distance between her fingertips and toes—at least three inches—and hoped this would be easier than it had always sounded.

"You're supposed to stretch before _and_ after exercising, or else you'll be ridiculously sore the next day," Lee said at long last, apparently finished as he stood up. "And I know this is a once-a-week thing, but try to at least get some stretches in before breakfast, or after dinner, or something, because if you don't, you'll be _dying_ come next class."

He grinned widely and headed toward Fred and George in clear dismissal. "Well," Harry said, standing up as well and wiping sweat from his brow, "I know _we_ have Quidditch on Tuesday evening, and the Hufflepuffs are right before us, right?" Zacharias Smith nodded, and Harry continued—"Well, I was thinking—if there was no other time to fit it in, we could have early-morning meetings—not Lee's, if possible—"

Several groans greeted this announcement, but nobody spoke up to contradict him. _Good. They've realized how important these are._

"What's wrong with Monday?" Ginny piped up.

"I've got detention with Umbridge for 'not paying attention in class,'" Harry said, grimacing. "It's ridiculous, but I can't risk arguing over it or skiving off, can I?"

Murmurs of agreement flew through the room. Umbridge had become even more tyrannical since Ed and Al had made it out of her grasp; she was even handing out detentions to some of the _Slytherins._ Hermione didn't know if she was somehow blaming all of _them_ for the Ministry's blunder, or what, but nobody had dared stand up to her.

Nobody was that stupid.

Harry made plans for them all to meet at six o'clock the following Tuesday morning and then let everyone leave in small groups, telling them to do their best to not look totally out of breath. He, Ron, and Hermione were just about to leave as well when Neville came up to them, a curious mix of terror and determination on his face.

"Can I—can I talk to you guys for a minute?"

"Sure," Harry said, quickly covering up his obvious surprise. "What d'you need?"

"I was wondering—I want to take Ed's advice," he said, looking them in the eye with what looked like a tremendous amount of effort. "I don't know exactly what's going on with them, but they both definitely know what they're talking about. I want to—I want to do something to repay them."

He sucked in a breath, his face turning rather red as he finished his mini-speech. Hermione was struck speechless for a moment. She had known Neville was capable of so much more than he thought, but she hadn't expected that the results would be this immediate. She only smiled brightly, though, as Ron found his voice first—

"Well, sure, mate! We can fill you in on everything we know in the dorm, and you'll have to start standing up to Malfoy…"

Neville laughed nervously as the four of them left the Room, heading for Gryffindor Tower. Hermione half-listened as the three boys carried on a lively conversation, allowing a small smile to slip onto her face. Who would have thought—the terrible, looming war had brought about some good.

_Let's hope the good outweighs the bad before this is all over._

* * *

Ed, Al, and Tonks crashed loudly into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place amidst a huge group of people. Everyone was talking at once, and Ed's arm was throbbing, but he ignored all of it, pushing past Tonks and Molly and Sirius and everyone else to make sure Al was all right. Pride hadn't been shooting to kill—but if he had been trying to get Ed's entire arm, his aim must have been off—

"Brother! Your arm!"

Al was staring at Ed's left forearm in wide-eyed horror, but Ed would not relax until he assured himself that his brother was not hurt. His clothes—the Hogwarts robes he had been kidnapped in—were not torn, and he wasn't favoring either leg; he concluded, feeling very relieved, that Al had not been harmed.

"Edward! You're going to bleed out if we don't heal that!" Molly sounded very worried, and he finally turned to face her dubiously. His arm didn't really hurt all that much anymore; the slash was simply an annoying twinge.

He glanced down to appease them all, and was a bit surprised to see that Pride had managed to slice through half of his forearm, right under his elbow. There was a steadily growing pool of blood on the floor directly beneath him, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

"Well, if you've got any bandages—or spells, I suppose…" he said, shrugging and holding his arm out to Molly. She gaped at him for a moment—probably for his totally calm demeanor—before whipping out her wand and saying a complicated-sounding spell. Within seconds, his forearm was perfectly healed.

"Well, now that _that's_ fixed…" He crossed his arms, staring around at what looked to be the entire Order. "Now what?"

"We were hoping _you_ knew that," Moody said loudly, stomping unevenly to stand before them. "We have to kill that _Pride_ monster—"

"Unless you're able to kill him—oh—a couple thousand times," Ed said, flopping into a nearby chair. "And that's just a guess. We don't know how many people he's eaten since he's arrived here."

Everyone only stared at him in response, and Ed huffed. Were these people really expecting them to be able to kill Pride right off the bat? Surely they couldn't be _that_ ignorant—

"How did you fend him off back home?" Sirius asked finally. "You said—"

"There were _eight_ of us—people at least as strong as me and Al—fighting him," Ed said loudly. "And we were only able to detain him temporarily. There is no easy way to kill this guy, unless someone knows how to destroy thousands of souls at once…"

"So what you're saying is that you have no idea how to kill him," Moody said.

"Unless you can secure him somewhere where it's totally dark and kill him until he dies," Al said. "There's no easy way out of this, we told you."

Everyone began talking at once, a few wondering loudly why they had bothered to save the Elrics if they weren't even going to be any help. Ed was getting irritated quickly—of _course_ they couldn't have just saved them because they were two _fellow human beings_—

"The fact that they have no easy way to kill Pride does not mean they are useless," Dumbledore said loudly, effectively quieting all of the arguments. "As I understand it, they are willing to help with the Order as well."

The both of them nodded, Ed rather reluctantly. Though most of the Order work would probably coincide with their own plans (defeat Pride and find a way home), he still greatly disliked the idea of working so closely with people who clearly mistrusted them.

(He supposed the paranoia wasn't misplaced…was what kept people alive during times of war…but that didn't mean he had to _like_ it.)

"What can they even _do_, though?" a man Ed did not recognize asked loudly. "They're fugitives now—they'll have to stay here with Sirius…"

Ed had not even thought of that, but he supposed the man had a point. Pride apparently wanted the both of them quite badly, so he, Voldemort, and the Ministry would all be on high alert. And if this was the only safe place—

Well, at least he'd be stuck here with Al and Sirius. (Though why the older man had to stay here was a mystery to him. He'd have to ask later.)

"Well, we can help with the meetings," Al was saying, shrugging. "We worked with a great strategist for _years_ back home—he probably rubbed off on us."

Ed scowled slightly at the mention of Mustang, but he had to admit that Al had a point—the man knew what he was talking about.

(The last time he had seen Mustang, he had been pinned to the ground with huge ropes of stone, looking confused and utterly terrified. He could only hope and pray to the god he hated that the man—and all of Amestris—had made it out alive.)

"What kind of strategy?" Moody asked, looking skeptical. "Unless your 'strategist' knows anything of full-scale war—"

Ed bared his teeth, and Al stiffened next to him. "Mustang may be a bastard, but he knows plenty about war." _And from what Lieutenant Hawkeye said, Ishval was worse than the deepest pit of Hell._ "And he killed two Homunculi single-handedly. I think you can trust what he taught us just fine."

"If he killed two things just like Pride, then why—"

"Is this how all your meetings are?" Ed interrupted, turning to Dumbledore incredulously. Everyone was so argumentative, but they never seemed to decide anything! "No wonder you all never get anything done—"

Moody snarled, and several other people looked highly offended, but before anyone could argue, Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly. "If we are to get anything done here, we are going to have to start from the beginning and get all the facts. Everyone, sit down." They did so grudgingly, still glaring at Ed, and the old man continued, "Now, if the Elrics would kindly tell us everything they know of Pride, we may be able to figure out the easiest way to stop him."

Ed huffed, and he and Al gave a quick overview of the Homunculus. Shadows that can only be stopped by reinforced carbon. Stop him temporarily with pitch blackness or blinding light. Excellent manipulation skills. Working with the Ministry and Voldemort to destroy the country so he can get home…

"What does he need you guys for?" Tonks asked, back to her normal, pink-haired self. "He said he needed you alive…"

Ed paused for a moment. Why, indeed, was he keeping them alive? It couldn't be to use them as sacrifices—they were the only two alchemists in this entire world—so why—

_The Gate._ It had very nearly killed Pride when he had forced open Mustang's Gate, and he had no sacrifices here to offset the price. He wanted him and Al to do it for him?

"He wants _us_ to activate the circle," he announced in horror to the room. His mind was racing ahead, trying to figure out how to stop him. If they merely refused, Pride would probably just kill them and do it himself. It was disadvantageous, not impossible; Pride simply wanted to arrive back in Amestris as strong as possible.

That wouldn't be any better than keeping him in England.

"Activate…the circle?" Remus Lupin asked, furrowing his brow. "But I thought Dumbledore said Flamel's Stone wasn't created through circles like your alchemy—"

"Pride knows how to set up a circle to do it—they did the same thing back home." He shivered before continuing, "There are many ways to do things like this."

"Why can't he do it himself? Wouldn't that be easier than trying to coerce you guys—?"

"He's lucky we're both here," Al mused, his face darkening. "One of us wouldn't cut it. The toll's too high, it'd definitely—"

"Sacrificing a whole country isn't enough of a toll?" Molly looked physically ill at the thought.

"The alchemist himself has to pay a huge toll to open the Gate for this kind of transmutation, if he doesn't have any sacrifices." Ed frowned. How strong had Pride been when Mustang's had nearly finished him off? He had consumed Gluttony the night before…how big was the toll…?

Moody frowned deeply, finally speaking up again. "You boys are talking nonsense. Tolls and Gates and—"

"How big is the toll, if an entire person isn't enough?" Sirius cut across him, frowning a bit. "If that's not enough, then how do people ever succeed doing large-scale…things like that?"

"That's the thing. Nobody ever has. Properly, anyway. And the toll? Well…" He shook back his right sleeve. "This is a _much_ lesser transmutation's price."

There was a shocked silence for a moment. "So," Remus said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Pride needs to open the 'Gate.' He's planning on sacrificing you two to kick-start the destruction of the entire country, which will allow him to open it and send him back wherever he came from?"

Ed nodded, relieved that at least _someone_ was sharp enough to follow this. _If only everyone here was like that._

Another pause. "Well, we've figured out what he _wants,_" Moody said finally. "But we're not any closer to killing him. So—"

"The best we can do is try and stop his killings as much as we can, and keep tabs on him," Al said with a sigh. "You have spies, right? Have them make sure he's not any closer to finishing everything off."

Nobody seemed to have an answer to that, so Dumbledore stood up, catching everyone's attention. "If nobody has any more questions, I believe many of us have work to get to. We will reconvene at a later date. Edward, Alphonse, if you have any more brilliant revelations, please tell Sirius immediately."

With a quiet _pop_, he disappeared, and most of the Order members followed. Only Sirius, Remus, and Molly remained with Ed and Al. "I expect you two are hungry," Molly said at length, looking the both of them up and down with worry in her eyes. "I'm sure prison food is terrible…" And without waiting for their affirmation, she hurried from the dining room into the kitchen, already waving her wand.

"Well, that was quite the adventure, wasn't it?" Sirius grinned, leaning back in his chair. "I'll have to induct you two into the 'broke out of prison' club. But, I guess you had help, didn't you…?"

"What're you saying?" Ed asked, getting irritated without any real reason. He really was quite hungry, though, and the stress of the past several days was catching up to him. He thought he had perfect reason to—

"Hm? You didn't know I've been convicted of killing thirteen people for the past fourteen years?" He laughed hollowly. "Broke out two years ago, been on the run ever since."

"You didn't…_actually_ kill them, did you?" Al looked nervous and maybe a bit offended. Ed could see why—they had enjoyed this man's company for _months_, and then he turns around and declares himself homicidal?

"'Course not. Wish I coulda killed one of them, though…" His face darkened quickly, and Ed realized that this was a topic that he did _not_ want to discuss with the man.

"Oi, Molly, what's for lunch?" he said loudly, yelling several requests as Al and Remus successfully steered the conversation into safer waters. Both men had ghosts in their gazes, though, and Ed knew that was a subject that ran much deeper than it seemed.

They kept up a lively conversation on what they all would like to do to Pride until Molly finally returned, levitating several pots behind her. Al jumped up to help her set the silverware out, but Ed and Sirius continued discussing how they would greatly like to turn Pride into a slug and pour salt on him until he died.

"Brother, that's _disgusting,_" Al said, wrinkling his nose. "We're about to eat!" Molly and Remus looked equally disturbed (though Ed didn't miss the amused smirk fighting to appear on Remus' face), but Ed merely grinned.

"C'mon, we've gotta lighten this up _somehow_, or else we're gonna go nuts," Sirius said, grinning just like Ed and reaching over to muss up Al's hair as he sat down. "You just escaped certain death! We should be celebrating!"

Al beamed, laughing along with the rest of them as Remus (quite innocently) emptied the salt shaker over Sirius' mashed potatoes. Sirius, of course, retaliated by pouring all the pepper into his friend's water. The only thing that kept it from evolving into a full-scale food fight was Molly's harsh glare. Ed had to hand it to her; she could rival Hawkeye in making people behave.

_I hope she's alive._

Had it been in any other situation, with any other group of people, Ed would have allowed himself to mull over that, pulling himself into a deep hole of dark desperation. As he casually dodged projectile pepper-water, though, he couldn't help but feel optimistic for the future. Al would be so proud—he was actually allowing himself to think that Father might have been overpowered, magic might have a way to defeat Pride, and the two of them might make it home in one piece.

…

Hopefully.

_._

_._

_._

_._

* * *

_Air._

Active and forceful, its invisible energy can overpower many with little effort. Despite this, it is, above all, pure: simply a sense of motivation to drive the worthy forward. It is intelligent, helpful, and kind, but in the wrong hands, it will bring about nothing but tragedy.

* * *

.

.

.

.


	16. Two Steps From Hell

**XVI**  
**Two Steps From Hell**

Draco trudged his way through the castle as slowly as possible, glowering all the while. That _bitch_—she hadn't seemed so bad for the first month or two of school, but recently…

It was the first thing the entire school had agreed upon in years: Dolores Umbridge was _batshit insane._

She had begun handing out detentions like Dumbledore handed out lemon drops, not even sparing those who had near-direct access to the Dark Lord himself. Was she really that stupid? If he told his father about this—

But no, that wouldn't do any good. She, apparently, was an invaluable asset to the Dark Lord as a spy in Hogwarts. And with the amount of power she had, Draco could see why.

It still didn't explain why he got a detention for not being in his seat, "books out, wands away" the second the bell rang, though. Really, it was bordering on ridiculous. He had seen what her detentions entailed; students in the other houses often complained and favored their raw, oozing hands. It wasn't pretty.

(Oddly enough, Nott's and Parkinson's hands had not sported anything of the sort when they returned from _their_ detentions. Their expressions of utter horror, though, led him to think that their experiences had not been much better.)

He paused briefly before turning down the hall that led to Umbridge's office. Draco did not think of himself as cowardly—not in the _least_—but he still had to swallow down something akin to panic as he continued walking. Whatever horrible things had happened to Theodore and Pansy, they had not said a word about them. As he recalled the way Nott's eyes had flashed in nothing short of unguarded terror, Draco thought he might prefer the physical torture to whatever had happened to them.

Finally, he stood outside the door, an irrational urge to run far, far away pulling at his stomach. He almost heeded that warning, because what could Umbridge really do about it? Dumbledore—as much as Draco disliked him—would stop her from doing anything too harsh. And, surely, the fact that he was one of the Dark Lord's followers had to count for _something._

Draco nodded decisively to himself, turning and planning to avoid Umbridge as much as possible for the next several days. Just as he took a step down the hall, though, a taunting, metallic, _child-like_ voice stopped him dead. A sharp, paralyzing shiver ran down his spine.

"Won't you come in, Mister Malfoy?"

The simple question came from all around him, echoing down the corridor to dissipate into nothingness. Draco spun in a quick circle, his hand flying for his wand. The fact that the speaker sounded no more than ten years old did not deter him in the least; whoever—_whatever_—that thing was—

The door behind him opened with a _creak_, and Draco turned to see Umbridge smiling—nearly leering—at him. "Yes, Mister Malfoy, do join us," she said in her sickly-sweet voice. "We have a rather…_special_ detention prepared for you."

Draco had never wished so strongly that he could Disapparate on the spot. His brain screamed at him to run—that there was something taboo, something _dark_ in that office. Something even more dangerous than the Dark Lord, something beyond imagining…

No, Draco did not fancy himself a coward. He just had well-honed survival instincts.

Before he could make a mad dash down the hall (no matter how fruitless it would have been), Umbridge's hand landed on his shoulder in a tight grip. "I'm sure you've realized that this 'detention' is only a cover for the true purpose of our meeting," she said, her voice _almost_ kind. Draco had to suppress another shiver. "If you would give us just a few minutes of your time, I can send you back to your dormitory."

He tried to sneer at her with some witty comeback, but he wasn't sure his vocal cords would reply with anything but an undignified squeak. So he was silent.

There really was no other way to describe it—the feeling of _doom_ got ever stronger as he walked into the office. His eyes flickered around the room, scanning for threats and possible escape routes. His gaze locked on the window. The office was on the third floor, overlooking the open grounds. It would be painful, but—

"You won't make it if you try to jump," that same chillingly child-like voice said, almost sounding amused. Draco flinched, casting his eyes around the room again. There was nothing—where was—?

Then he saw it.

It could have passed as a first year if it didn't have frighteningly purple eyes. There was also the matter of the long black…_things_ floating around it, but Draco's mind refused to acknowledge them at the moment. They were quickly filed under _creepy as hell_ and stored away for later. As Draco's gaze locked with its, it was all he could do not to scream and run away in terror. Dignity be damned; he had a reputation to uphold, but to have a reputation in the first place, he had to be _alive._

The monster-boy laughed outright this time. "I'm not going to hurt _you_," it said. He found it impossible to rip his eyes from its gaze as it continued, "You're of some use to me."

Draco barely suppressed a whimper when he heard Umbridge close the door behind her. "Who are you, anyway?" he asked, trying to sound as flippant as possible. He was fairly sure he was failing miserably, but that was the _least_ of his worries at the moment.

"You haven't heard of me?" The thing actually showed a bit of surprise before reverting back to its smug, arrogant façade. "Nott lives with you, yes? And if not him, surely your father…he _has_ worked for me, after all."

Draco finally realized, a sick pit of realization forming in his stomach. "You're Pride?" The one who had very nearly sent his father to Azkaban, had he not escaped the café and the madman Elric in time; the one who was supposedly plotting to kill all the Muggles in the country to make himself and the Dark Lord immortal; the one who single-handedly brought the Ministry to its knees…

He had to hold back a wave of nausea. This ridiculously powerful monster had found its way into _Hogwarts?_ As much as he disliked the Headmaster and the vast majority of the school's population, it wasn't as if he wanted such a juggernaut within its walls.

"Of course I am," Pride responded, a malicious grin forming on its face. "And I have a job for you. But first…" It turned to Umbridge abruptly, its gaze going unfocused for a moment. "Miss Umbridge, you may be interested to know that there is a large gathering of students in a hidden room on the seventh floor. Follow me, and you will find it."

The woman raised an eyebrow but did not question it. She walked out the door, and Draco was filled with momentary, irrational hope. Maybe he could slip away while Pride was upstairs… But the monster did not move, only extending one of the black tentacles (_Oh Merlin, those are shadows_) that wound its way down the hall and out of sight.

Pride turned its gaze back to Draco, and he gulped loudly, ready to bolt with all he had if the situation turned south. But the monster only grinned, leaning forward in its seat behind Umbridge's desk.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Fire.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

How could he look so ominous and downright _dangerous_ when he was a good three feet shorter than Draco?

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Destruction.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

"Now, Mister Malfoy…" Draco found his legs wrapped by those same black tendrils, forcing him to sit in the wooden chair behind him. "I need you to find…"

* * *

November nineteenth.

Hermione, quite frankly, was surprised that the D.A. had not been discovered during the past month, given the amount of security Umbridge had set up. Even more surprising was the fact that all of their letters to Ed and Al had been allowed through. Surely, Umbridge had to catch on at _some_ point that these letters weren't actually to Ron's brother?

She decided not to worry about that until—_if_, she reminded herself—the time came. She opened the latest letter from the Elrics, scanning over it quickly. Harry and Ron looked at her expectantly from across the breakfast table, and a few other Gryffindors watched her curiously. All the members of the D.A. knew—and were sworn to secrecy—about their covert exchange. Hermione gave everyone updates at the meetings with whatever information they had been able to relay.

Even if the adults didn't want them to know anything, they _had_ to know to survive.

"Nothing much on the surface…" she said, skimming over the loopy handwriting—Al's. "More of the same thing." Everyone within hearing distance relaxed a bit, and Hermione zeroed in on one particular line of the letter.

_"Norberta's losing her appetite, it seems...she's been eating much less than usual, and I'm quite worried about her health…"_

"Norberta" was, according to Ron, one of Charlie's favorite dragons. (Hermione thought "she" had been anything but friendly back in first year…) It was their decided-upon codename for Pride; Ed and Al kept them up to date on his actual doings through "Norberta's" actions. Wreaking havoc, burning down the forest, harming one of her fellows…she was used to hearing all of those. But to hear that Pride was actually _slowing_ in his killings? Did that mean his plan was nearly complete? Was he taking a break? Trying to confuse them?

There were so many variables and no certain answer.

She sighed, tucking the letter away in her bag to examine later. "Aurors" were patrolling the Great Hall—and all of Hogwarts—"for the students' safety against Sirius Black and all of the escaped prisoners." It was obvious that they weren't true Aurors, that they were instead around to make sure nobody tried anything. Hermione had to admit that they were good at what they did; the students had to be very careful about their D.A. meetings, even more so than before.

"What are you going to teach tonight, Harry?" Ron asked in an undertone once they were in History, their first class of the day. "Everyone seems to have _Reducto_ down pretty well…"

"Yeah," Harry said, furrowing his brows a bit. "I was thinking shield charms for a week or two, because of his shadows and stuff. They may not stop him, but we can slow him down…"

Hermione nodded. They didn't know exactly how strong Pride was; for all they knew, even the most powerful shield charm in existence would fall easily to his might. But it was definitely a spell worth learning, because Pride wasn't the only enemy they were up against.

She glanced nervously at the door. Though the spies did not sit in on all the classes, they were wont to pop in unexpectedly. This, combined with Umbridge's continuing "High Inquisitor" work, seemed to drive many teachers to the limits of their sanity.

Nobody was stupid enough to speak up about it, though. Even the Slytherins—who Umbridge had seemed to at least _tolerate_ back in September—had hopelessly fallen under her iron fist. Now, even they shot her looks of deepest loathing every time she passed.

The entire school stood united against her—yet she still reigned supreme. The only thing standing between her and total control of the school was Dumbledore.

_Good _God,_ if she finds a way to run _him_ out, we might as well just surrender to Pride._

She drew up a list of different shield charms to teach to the D.A. that night, for once ignoring Binns entirely. Learning history was important—how else could they keep from repeating the mistakes of the past?—but they wouldn't have a future in which to _make_ those mistakes if they lost this war.

(Because that's what it was, really. There was the overarching battle against all three enemies. There was the battle for the lives of every man, woman, and child in the country. And there was the battle within Hogwarts, fighting for the rights of every being living under its roof.)

If they lost this war, there was no future.

They had to win at all costs.

* * *

That night's D.A. meeting started off normally. They began with the simple _Protego_, planning to advance to more complex charms as they all mastered the easier ones.

It was seven forty-five, fifteen minutes into their meeting, when Hermione saw something that made her heart plummet. She didn't know immediately what it was, where it came from, or how it got into the Room, but she was sure she saw part of an enormous eye attached to a long, black…

_Oh God._

"Harry, we need to get out of here," she said, her voice squeaking. "Over by the door—I think that's—"

When Harry turned to investigate, the shadow was withdrawing through where the door should have been. But his keen eye, honed through years as a Seeker, missed nothing; his face paled quickly, and he turned to the class, raising his voice.

"We have to quit class early—_right now._ Leave…there." He pointed to a new door on the opposite wall. "Get to your common rooms as quick as you can, but don't look like you're running. Merlin, if he gets any of us…" He said this last part to Hermione and Ron, who had just arrived near them, looking alarmed.

"What's going on? Did Umbridge—?"

"Worse. Pride was in here," Hermione breathed. "I saw his shadows. It couldn't have been anything else."

Ron looked utterly terrified. "He didn't do anything? He was just…there?"

"And then he left. Most likely to get Umbridge," Hermione confirmed. "Look, almost everyone else is out, let's go—"

Sure enough, only the three of them and Neville remained in the room. Neville had held true to his change of heart nearly a month ago; he had retrieved the Marauder's Map from Harry's bag, making sure the coast remained clear for people to make their escape.

"Thanks, Neville," Harry said quickly, accepting the Map and wiping it clean before handing it to Hermione. "Let's get going before—"

He pushed the three of them out into the hallway, but Hermione heard the original entrance to the Room open just as Harry slammed the door behind them. It disappeared instantly. Ron made a sort of choking noise, and Hermione bit back a sob as they stared at the place where Harry had stood. He hadn't made it out; he was alone in the Room with Umbridge—

_And Pride._

"Oh my God," she whispered, her logical mind fleeing along with her composure. "Oh my God, oh my God…"

"Let's go get Dumbledore," Ron offered, awkwardly putting his arm around her shoulders. Hermione could feel him shaking as he continued, "They can't do anything to him—he hasn't broken any rules, being in a room by himself…"

Neville was activating the Map again, staring at it with wide eyes. "It's acting all funny," he said, his brow furrowed. "It says Pride's in Umbridge's office with Malfoy, but then it says he's in the Gryffindor common room—and the Slytherin—and the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—" His face showed growing horror. "Please tell me this is broken…"

Hermione shook her head slowly, some of her sense coming back. "He can—be in different places? At the same time?" Even as she voiced it as a question, her mind skipped back to a letter she had received several weeks ago—

_"She's so difficult to control! It must be the strong magic in her. Sometimes it seems like she's everywhere at once, the way she gets around…"_

_We are so dead._

"Let's go get D—wait a second," Neville cut himself off abruptly, staring at the Map. "Harry just showed up outside the Room—Umbridge and _another_ Pride are with him—it looks like _they're_ heading for Dumbledore!" He looked up at them, a hint of his old anxiety shining through. "I think—should we just go to the common room and wait for him? If they're going to Dumbledore—nothing can happen to him, right?"

As much as Hermione's heart disagreed—Harry was her _friend,_ and she couldn't just desert him like that!—her mind agreed with Neville. They could only make the situation worse by arriving unannounced in a room with Pride…

So, with great reluctance, she allowed Ron and Neville to lead her to Gryffindor Tower. Ron's arm was still wrapped tight around her shoulders, and he had not stopped trembling at all. Hermione knew she wasn't much better.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Air.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

But neither of them mentioned it; neither spoke at all as they made their way to safety.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Violence...}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

Neither could shake the feeling that they were leaving their friend to his doom.

* * *

When Harry returned to the common room, nearly everyone went quiet. As far as they knew, nobody but Harry had been caught. Nobody knew anything. At least a third of the Gryffindors had been at the meeting, and they waited anxiously to hear any snippet of news.

But Hermione thought he seemed unnaturally quiet. As far as she could tell, he was unharmed; he had all four limbs, he wasn't bleeding, and he didn't look to be in pain.

(Or, at least, the physical kind.)

Because when she looked at him more closely, she could tell he was utterly terrified. His face was pale as a sheet, he ran his hand through his hair every few seconds, and he _absolutely refused_ to look anyone in the eye.

"Harry?" Ron ventured after several seconds. The silence was thick, suffocating; Hermione was sure she was going to scream if it went on for much longer.

Their friend finally met Ron's eyes, and Hermione could clearly see the pain and utter _despair_ he was just barely reining in.

"Dumbledore's Army."

Nobody said anything for a moment, trying to figure out what the title of their illicit group had to do with the dead look on its leader's face. "What…?" Neville ventured, voicing what everyone was thinking.

"_Dumbledore's_ Army."

Harry looked positively _ill_ as he stumbled toward Ron and Hermione, who had claimed seats by the fire. "_Dumbledore's…_"

Hermione's breath hitched; she couldn't be understanding this correctly; there _had_ to be some other explanation for why her friend looked like the world was coming to an end…

But several others seemed to have come to the same conclusion. They stared at Harry, silently pleading, _begging_ him to prove them wrong. He couldn't mean _that_, because the consequences were terrifying, beyond imagining—

Hermione's world came crashing down around her as he confirmed their worst fears.

"He's gone."

* * *

It was the afternoon of November nineteenth, and Ed was sure someone was going to get hurt if nothing happened soon. Grimmauld Place was _boring_. It was more boring than Central Command, more boring than school, more boring than even _hospitals_. There, at least, he had doctors to heckle and Mustangs to annoy.

But here, _nothing happened._ The three of them were forced by Dumbledore to stay in the house, because going outside and getting themselves kidnapped or _killed_ wouldn't help anyone.

The fact remained, though, that Ed had _never_ stayed in one place for so long. Even during his year-long automail recovery, he had insisted Al or Winry wheel him outside so he could enjoy the fresh air.

Now, he couldn't even do that.

Remus came by as often as his work for the Order would allow, and Molly brought food every few days, but nobody else visited on even a semi-regular basis unless there was a meeting. They had only each other, the strange Kreacher, and the even stranger Buckbeak for company.

(Not that Ed could have picked two better people in this world to spend time with. But the musty dreariness of Sirius' old house was starting to drive him mad.)

"You heard from Harry lately?" he asked Sirius over dinner. He didn't know the whole story, but apparently Sirius, Remus, and Harry's father had been best friends when they went to Hogwarts. Since Harry's parents had both died when he was young (Ed had felt a sharp pang of empathy when he learned that), Sirius and Remus had taken on the job of being his surrogate fathers within the last couple of years.

"Not much," Sirius replied, shaking his head. "The D.A.'s getting bigger every meeting, and Umbridge is still being horrible, but other than that…I suppose I could tell him that Hagrid's due back in the country sometime soon. That should cheer him up."

Though Ed could clearly see the delight on Sirius' face—pride that his godson's rebellion was going so well—he also didn't miss the bitterness there. And if _he_ caught it, then surely—

"But? What's wrong?" Al asked, looking worried for their friend.

"It's fantastic that all of this is happening, that there's a huge underground rebellion going on, but I can't help with any of it!" he burst out, looking like he had been wanting to say this for a long time. "The other Order members are always out working and saving lives, and even Harry and his friends are able to do something! But all I can do is offer this shitty excuse for a house as a meeting place! _I'm so damn useless!_" He emphasized this last part with a distinctly canine growl and a pounded fist on the table.

Ed and Al shared a glance, unsure of what to say. Truly, both of them felt the same way: willing to help but unable to leave the house. All they could offer was information, and in the heat of battle, that was worth next to nothing.

"You could—well…" Ed began, but he really couldn't think of anything the man could do. "Eventually this will all overshadow you, right? When it's obvious that Pride's the one they _really_ need to worry about, they'll forget all about you!"

"Mm." Ed knew that Sirius was not convinced. He also knew that he was no good at working with emotions, and it seemed like even _Al_ would have trouble with this, so he started casting around for a change of subject.

Luckily, Sirius seemed to have the same idea. "Shouldn't have brought it up," he muttered, though he still looked very sour. "You guys are in the same situation, if not worse, and this isn't exactly the time to go whining…"

"No, you shouldn't bottle it up!" Al said, looking at him worriedly from across the table. "That's really terrible for you, and it's worse when it all gets out!"

Ed shivered involuntarily. "Like Mustang. It's probably good you haven't gotten to the point that you're ready to blow up half the city to kill Envy…"

Al shot him a sharp, confused look, but Sirius just looked lost. "Envy? Is that another like Pride?"

"Only less powerful and more annoying," Ed nodded. "He had shape shifting powers like Tonks and killed the colonel's best friend. When Mustang found out, well…"

Sirius nodded, a look that seemed a bit too much like recognition in his eye. "I can definitely relate to that."

Ed finally realized why some of the emotions that flashed across his friend's face were familiar. Sometimes, Sirius slipped up in his wild stories of his times at Hogwarts, referring to "the four of us." But before Ed could ever ask about this mysterious fourth friend, Sirius had always changed the subject, a dark expression marring his face.

Now, Ed knew what that fleeting look was: the near-mirror image of Mustang's while Ed had held Envy firmly in his grasp.

There was a pause before Sirius suddenly changed the subject from that rather depressing note—"You said your friend Mustang is a _colonel?_ Isn't that pretty high in the Muggle military? How do you know him?"

Ed caught Al's _look_ only after he responded—"He's my commanding officer! We've never mentioned him?"

Al looked as if he would very dearly like to bang his head into the table. Sirius only stared at him for a moment, mouth hanging open. Nobody said anything for several seconds; Sirius looked like he was trying to figure out whether he was joking. Finally—"You're…in the military? Back home?"

"Yeah," Ed said carefully, gauging his reaction. He knew that even in such a warmonger of a country, he was the only underage soldier. In this country, where the adults seemed to stop at nothing to keep "children" out of the brewing war…

"You were, what, fifteen then? What kind of country lets someone that age into the military?" Sirius seemed nearly speechless, fumbling for some semblance of logic that would explain this to him.

Al sighed resignedly as a grin spread across Ed's face. The cat was out of the bag, now, and Ed definitely trusted Sirius enough to tell him this much. "I joined when I was _twelve_. Could've when I was eleven, if I had all four limbs!"

Words seemed to have totally escaped Sirius at this point; his mouth just hung open rather stupidly, obviously trying to find something to say. "When _I_ was twelve, I was worried about how many Dungbombs I'd put in Snivelly's pants that day," he finally managed hoarsely, looking equal parts ashamed and horrified. "What sick bastardization of a military would _allow_—"

"Well, that's kind of a long story," Ed assured him, grinning wider as Al did indeed let his forehead meet the kitchen table. "But if you really must know where it is—" (He refused to refer to Amestris in the past tense—it was fine—_they were alive_) "—Have you ever heard of Amestris?"

It was strange, bringing the topic of their home country out into the open. Ed couldn't stop the sharp pang of longing from piercing his heart. _Winry. Granny. Teacher. Mustang. Hawkeye. Mei. Greed. Mrs. Hughes. Elicia. Even our old man…_Neither of them had any idea of what had happened, who had lived and who had died. (But of _course_ Father was defeated, because the consequences of his triumph were too terrible to even imagine.) Ed tried not to dwell on what they might have lost, but sometimes it came to mind all too unwillingly.

Sirius' eyes flashed as he saw both of their expressions fall momentarily, but he tactfully ignored them in favor of this new puzzle. "…Where is it?" he asked after several seconds, finally admitting defeat. Ed forced himself back to the present, for there was nothing they could do about Amestris now. First, they had to save Great Britain.

Ed smiled at the man's expression; he knew how much Sirius insisted on solving all sorts of riddles on his own. To admit defeat—especially to Ed and Al, who he always insisted were younger and therefore less experienced…

(Ed and Al had always laughed it off and never corrected him. He had been through Hell himself, after all.)

"Can you keep a secret?" Al asked, finally grinning and joining in on the game, forcing himself back to the topic at hand. He leaned forward conspiratorially, an action that Sirius eagerly mirrored.

"'Course I can! I've kept Moony's, haven't I?"

"Well…" Ed trailed off, laughing outright at Sirius' anxiously excited features. "You'll have to promise you'll believe us."

"What's that supposed to mean?" His brow scrunched up; Ed couldn't quite tell if it was in confusion or annoyance. "You know a lot of the stuff I put up with every day! What could I not believe?"

Ed and Al shared another glance, both enjoying dragging this out _just a bit longer._ "I suppose we could trust him," Al said, shrugging nonchalantly.

Ed nodded as well. "Can't hurt. I mean—"

"_What?_"

Ed grinned. He, especially, had always enjoyed egging Sirius on, and the man gave as good as he got. It was like he was an adult with just the right mindset of a teenager to complement Ed. His was a volatile personality, but by some rare stroke of luck, he had met and befriended just the right people to balance him out.

He knew just the moment when he could tell Sirius to get the best reaction, because it was the same for himself. "Well…have you ever heard of parallel dimensions?"

This, apparently, was the _last_ thing Sirius had been expecting; it took him a moment to get his bearings again. "Like…different timelines? Like if America never became independent, or Hitler won World War II?"

Ed had only a vague idea of what either of those events were, but he seemed to at least have the right idea. "Sort of. Except our world is really different. No languages are the same, no countries…it's totally unrelated to yours."

"And it lets twelve year olds into the military," he said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"…It's complicated," Ed said shortly. "The part I was accepted into was based on talent, not age, and I passed the test, so…"

"But it's the _military,_ yeah? Same as here? Fighting and killing and dying? Why in Hell would you…?"

"We had our reasons." Ed made sure his tone ended _that_ discussion. He liked Sirius—quite a lot, actually—but some things just didn't need to be brought to light. Sirius had quite enough on his plate as it was. _And this is bringing up things that _none_ of us want to talk about._

Luckily, Sirius seemed to get the message. "But damn, a parallel universe? What's it like?" he asked eagerly. "Grass still green, sky still blue, all that?"

"Of course!" Al tried (and failed miserably) to cover his giggles with an eye roll. "This country looks a lot like home…London even reminds me of Central a bit."

"That's _crazy,_ though!" Sirius' eyes were shining with excitement. "How'd you get here? Do you have any idea how to get back? You'll have to tell me all about your world sometime—"

Ed laughed, ready to cut him off with some smart retort, when a blast of flame and wind burst through the room. All three of them were out of their chairs in an instant—Sirius' wand was drawn, Ed's arm was transmuted, and Al had a large dagger transmuted from the silverware.

As it turned out, it was only Dumbledore, holding tight to the tail of a large crimson bird Ed had once seen in his office. All three of them lowered their weapons, Sirius shooting odd looks at the blade protruding from Ed's arm and the sleek steel Al was sheepishly turning back into the cutlery.

"It is good, at least, to see that you have not lost your reflexes," Dumbledore said, brushing soot out of his beard. The light-hearted words were lost on all of them, though, as they saw the extremely grave look on the old man's face.

"Professor Dumbledore…?" Al asked tentatively when he showed no signs of explaining his sudden and unannounced arrival in the kitchen.

"We have a problem," he replied after a moment, looking all three of them in the eye before continuing—"I cannot return to Hogwarts."

"_What?_" All thoughts but this single issue raced from Ed's mind; he immediately tried to think of the cause of this catastrophe. The only person in Hogwarts who would possibly do that would be Umbridge, and she—

_Oh, shit._

"Umbridge is in charge now, isn't she?" he said hoarsely, gripping the table before him for support. He didn't particularly care for the school, but _none_ of the people under its roof deserved to be under her—_and Pride's_—jurisdiction.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "She told me that if I did not resign my post, Pride would be allowed to roam the castle at will. With our knowledge right now, we have no way to get around—"

"But now that she's in charge, Pride'll just go in and out whenever he wants!" Ed heard his voice rising in volume, but he couldn't find it in him to care. "They're on the same side! Better to have you there and _try_—"

"Dolores and I made an Unbreakable Vow. As long as I do not try to regain my post as Headmaster, she cannot let Pride anywhere within Hogwarts' boundaries. If she does, the vow is broken, and she dies," he added for the Elrics' benefit.

Ed had to admit that, with their limited resources, that had been a reasonably good plan. But it wouldn't work forever…_because if Pride really wants to get into Hogwarts, one measly human life is nothing to him._

"What can we do, then?" Sirius asked, looking very worried. "We have to protect Harry and the other students—we can't just leave them to fend for themselves!"

"I will call an Order meeting as soon as Dolores' staff meeting has adjourned," Dumbledore said. "The remaining loyal teachers need to work together to protect the students, and we will discuss that tonight. If any of you have any ideas to make _sure_ Pride stays out of Hogwarts—" His eyes flickered, and Ed could see that Dumbledore knew all too well how far Pride was willing to go—"please, tell us all. We need as many ideas as possible to outsmart him."

He nodded gravely at them, turning toward the majestic bird perched by the sink. "Fawkes, if you could please inform Hagrid that it is not safe for him to return to Hogwarts…send him here as soon as possible so we can sort something out." The bird let out a long, low note and disappeared in another flash of fire and gust of air.

"You three, _do not leave the house._" He looked directly at Ed as he said this, and the boy glared resentfully before relaxing a bit. Pride, right now, was on top of the world. He was so close to achieving what his Father had in Amestris—and this time, there was no Hohenheim to draw the counter-circle to stop him.

_In this world,_ Ed realized with a chill, _we are Hohenheim._ They were the country's best bet against the unbeatable; they were the ones most likely to destroy the immortal; yet, they had no idea where to start.

With a final, solemn nod, Dumbledore Apparated away with a _crack._

An eerie silence was all that followed.

_._

_._

_._

_._

* * *

_Water._

That which is integral to life can also be the end of everything. It is unstable and irrational; it changes without warning with devastating consequences. Despite these terrible things…when it chooses to be, it can be nurturing, sensitive, and intuitive. Whichever way this volatile—and vital—being is looked upon, in the wrong hands, it will bring about nothing but tragedy.

* * *

.

.

.

.


	17. Hell Hath No Fury

**XVII**  
**Hell Hath No Fury**

Ed found it impossible to sit still while they waited for the rest of the Order to arrive. He paced the dining room angrily, fixing his smoldering gaze on the floor as he turned everything over in his mind.

_Pride had been inside Hogwarts._ For what, Ed had no idea. All he had done—as far as they knew—was discover the DA. While the consequences of that had worked in Pride's favor, there was no reason for him to be there to find it in the first place.

_What is he trying to do?_

Al and Sirius had not followed Ed's angry steps, but they looked equally worried from their seats at the table. Al was staring off into space, one hand holding up his head while the other drummed quietly on the table. Sirius' head was buried in his arms, slouching against the tabletop. Ed would have thought him asleep if it weren't for the occasional mutter emanating from his direction.

All of them were deep in thought, minds going into overdrive as they tried to think of some—_any —_way to stay one step ahead of Pride. But despite the horribly palpable anxiety hanging in the air, Ed's brilliant mind was failing him.

He slammed his right fist into the wall as he passed, as much to let out frustration as it was to break the terrible silence. He was the youngest State Alchemist in _history_, damnit! He'd seen the Truth! He'd seen Homunculi fall before; how was this any different?

_Because if you make even one tiny mistake, fifty million people die._

Al's eyes had flickered at the sound of cracking wood, and Sirius had lifted his head minutely from his arms, but neither of them helped to break the unbearable silence. Ed could only fume—at Pride, at Voldemort, at the Ministry, at the Truth—but when it came down to it, he knew he had no one to blame but himself. If he had been able to counter the Homunculus all those months ago when he had threatened Al's blood seal, if he hadn't been so goddamned _righteous_ and refused to—

"How—how did you hold him off at home?" Sirius asked. Ed basked in the sound of something other than his own (_skittering, furious, unworthy_) heartbeat as the man continued—"You said you and a whole bunch of others were able to stop him, right?"

"The two of us, two immortals, two chimeras, and two ninjas were just enough to trap him for a few hours." _And even then, he was able to worm his way out. _"And he wasn't allowed to kill three of us."

"Oh…" Sirius trailed off, his face drooping. Ed sighed and resumed his pacing. Pride's _only_ weaknesses—if they could be called that—were blinding light and total darkness. If there was some sort of spell…

Al seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Fred and George are inventors, right? They do really amazing stuff with magic?" He turned to look at Sirius questioningly. "Have they made anything like flash bombs, or something that makes it completely dark?"

Sirius seemed to think a moment, his brow scrunched in concentration at this new idea. "Not that I can think of," he said finally, "but they're always coming up with new things. Maybe you can suggest that to them and they can get working on it."

"We need it _now,_ though," Ed said, sighing heavily and resisting the urge to punch the wall again. "And anyhow, we're all sitting ducks in the dark, too. It'll be able to stop him temporarily, but…"

_If only Heinkel and Mister Gorilla were here to help us._

Before they could discuss the idea any longer, before they could suggest any _new_ ones, Dumbledore Apparated back into the kitchen. That same grave look was on his face, the one that seemed to speak volumes about the state of the situation while really giving away nothing at all. "The staff meeting is over," he said, voice tense. "Everyone should be arriving soon."

Ed nodded shortly and sank into a seat next to his brother. Maybe the others would have fresh ideas once the meeting started, because his usually unfailing mind was refusing to cooperate.

As if in rebellion to that thought, a sudden, insane idea came to mind. They needed more information; that much was obvious. And who better to get it from than the monster himself? _He's right there—all we'd have to do is—_

Before he could elaborate on that thought, though, several _cracks_ of Apparition tore through the room, and the fire in the kitchen roared green. Within a few minutes, the majority of the Order filled the dining room. Ed had never seen so many members gathered at once; despite the fact that he and Al had attended every Order meeting in the last month, there were several people he had never seen before.

It really was a testament to how desperate their situation had become. _We've lost the school. We've lost the last safe haven for the innocents who shouldn't have to fight. Who in Hell will be able to protect a thousand students from Pride now?_

They needed to think of a plan, and _fast._ That same idea continued to niggle at the back of his mind, and he had to admit that it had merit…assuming Pride would tell them anything, of course. Why would he? Despite the fact that his plan (what they knew of it) seemed foolproof from all angles, the Homunculus was too smart to give everything away to his enemies.

Even when he was already on the cusp of victory.

Lost in thought, Ed never noticed how _quiet_ the group was. Other than muttered greetings between friends, nobody had said a word since the room had filled up. Breaking himself out of his thoughts at last, Ed finally noticed the silence. It was so unlike him—so unlike the Order in general—that he barely restrained himself from making noise just for the sake of it. The tension, the worry, the _terror_ thick in the air almost made it hard to breathe.

It was obvious that everyone was waiting for Dumbledore to say something, for Ed or Al to come up with some brilliant plan, for _someone_ to knock them out of this terrible nightmare.

Nobody was waking up.

Several seconds passed, until Ed finally couldn't take it anymore. The deafening silence was going to drive him mad unless something happened, and _soon…_ "It's only a matter of time before Pride decides Hogwarts is more important than Umbridge," he said loudly. Several people jumped in surprise, obviously broken out of their own reveries as they turned to face him. "There's something he wants there at Hogwarts—if there wasn't, he wouldn't have bothered getting in. If he needs it badly enough, he'll take his one chance to get it, screw Umbridge."

"But wouldn't that mean he loses his power over the school?" Remus asked, raising an eyebrow. "Someone else would become Headmaster, someone not under his command—"

"Not necessarily," Ed said, turning his gaze toward Snape. "They all think you work for them, yes? If you can convince him…" _Somehow. Good luck with that; he's four hundred years old; he knows all the tricks in the book—_

Snape's eyes narrowed, but he gave a jerky nod. "Hang on a second," Moody said loudly over anything Snape might have said. "For all we know, he could've gotten whatever he wanted tonight, and finding that defense group was just a bonus. We need—"

"Information," Ed finished. "But unless any of you have a way to talk to him without getting yourselves _killed_—"

"But we _do!_" Moody said. "If he's still watching the house, that is. We don't even know if he's still there!"

There were a few murmurs of agreement from around the table. Ed had to admit that it wasn't a horrible idea (he had thought of it himself, after all)…he just wished it didn't have to come to this. Putting lives on the line so they might be able to guess at what he was planning…_ But I'm not sure we have much of a choice anymore._

Al was explaining this to the others as Ed was thinking it; unsurprisingly, they did not look at all pleased. "If you two _kids _can survive a fight with him, I'm sure we'll be fine," Moody growled. "It's the best plan we have. Might as well try it out."

Ed scowled at the "kids" comment, but it was late, and none of them had the patience or _time_ to argue. "Fine," he snapped, clapping and reinforcing his automail. "Anyone fast enough to dodge can stand in the front hall, but _stay behind us._"

"Hang on—!" Moody said loudly, looking highly affronted, but Ed only glared in response. These people had never known Pride in all his horrifying glory; they had no idea what they were up against. Only a few had even _seen _him. Ed wasn't taking any chances…especially when the stakes were so high.

He and Al pushed their way into the kitchen quickly. Coal was a plentiful source of carbon; Al quickly pulled some from the fireplace, transmuting it into a large, impenetrable shield.

Even if Ed was fairly sure he could hold off the shadows with only his arm, it would be best to have back up…in case magic had made Pride even stronger than he was before.

Despite the situation, Ed had to grin as Al picked up the heavy shield with little effort. He was very nearly as strong as Ed now; the magical cures combined with their daily exercises had brought back long-forgotten muscle mass quickly.

(Desperation for the state of the country, of course, had nothing at all to do with their near-obsessive training.)

They made their way to the narrow front hall, which was packed to the brim with Order members. Many of them, Ed suspected, were not up to the task of dodging the shadows, but he only snorted and sent Al a glance. _Don't let them get hurt._ Al nodded, holding the shield to block the crowd of people behind him, and Ed swung open the front door.

Nothing happened for several seconds, long enough for people to start muttering, wondering if he had abandoned his watch over Headquarters after all. Ed did not let his guard down, though; he held his arm up protectively, looking around carefully in the dim light of the streetlamps. At least no Muggles would be around to—

Something moved across the street, in the alley between numbers three and four. Ed zeroed in on it, watching carefully to see if it was Pride, or if—

He had just enough time to move his automail to prevent his left arm from getting chopped clean off.

The _clang_ echoed through the night, causing Al to hiss and several wizards to gasp. He thought he heard Molly scream.

The assault began; Ed easily blocked Pride's attacks, laughing all the while. "You're losing your touch!" he yelled to the night. "What, still can't kill us? So why are you—"

Al grunted behind him; a shadow had come from the side, slipping around Ed to slam into the shield. He glanced apologetically back at his little brother before returning his attention to the alley, where Pride had still not emerged. "C'mon, I'm sure you've eaten someone who can Apparate! Unless you're too _scared_—"

_Crack._ Pride appeared in the middle of the street, smiling nastily at them all. "Very good, Fullmetal Alchemist. You're learning."

"Hm? That you've been eating all those poor people who have 'disappeared?'" He felt physically ill at the thought. It had been bad enough watching him absorb Gluttony, one of his own kind, an enemy; but to think that he had torn innocents apart just for their magical power…

"How many, then?" he asked, trying to remember the total from a previous meeting. The wizarding victims had numbered in the hundreds—mostly Muggleborns—while the Muggles…

"Now, why would I tell you something like that?" The wicked grin on his face grew wider. "Let me guess—you all are out of ideas on what I'm planning to do, so just decided to see if I'll tell you. How very _quaint._"

Ed grit his teeth. It may have been obvious—baiting themselves to lure Pride here—but it still pissed him off that the Homunculus thought all of this was _funny._

But Pride surprised him by continuing—"Let's make a deal. For every fact I give you, you send out one of those powerful wizards Alphonse is hiding there." His gaze drifted to the carbon shield, his eyes narrowing a bit. "Hm…the tall, red-haired one would do nicely for an appetizer…"

"Shut _up_, Pride," Al nearly snarled. Ed was surprised in spite of himself; very few things made his brother that angry, that fast. But, he supposed, threatening people he cared about definitely made the list.

"Isn't this shield a bit _heavy_ for you?" Pride said nastily, his shadows running along the front of it in almost a caress. "You've only had your body for five months—surely, you'd like to set it down…"

Ed, now positioned to have a clear view of both the front door and Pride, saw Al merely scowl deeper and hold the shield steady. Several of the wizards, just barely visible behind the shield, shared looks of confusion about Pride's "body" comment, but neither of them had any time to explain.

"Shame…" Pride continued, not withdrawing his shadows and not sounding upset in the least. "If only you'd let me in. This is the oddest sight—with all the charms you have on this house, it looks like you're all floating there, between numbers eleven and thirteen."

"And we intend to keep it that way," Ed said loudly, forcing the Homunculus' gaze back on him. "If you don't—"

"Pride," Dumbledore's voice cut him off unexpectedly, causing all eyes to turn toward the old man. "What were you doing in my school tonight? Surely, it was not to search for illegal defense groups…"

"Headmaster Dumbledore!" Mocking, false surprised laced Pride's voice. "Give me the red-haired man, and I will answer that."

"How about I give you a scenario, and you explain it." Dumbledore's voice was growing harder now. That first question, Ed could tell, was to test the waters. He wanted to see how Pride would respond to the most powerful wizard on their side of the war. Now that he knew he was totally unfazed by the kind façade… "You say you and Voldemort are working together to kill all those of Muggle heritage. But Arthur is a pureblood, as I'm sure you know, as are several of the wizards you have killed. What do you have to gain from lying to your allies, I wonder?"

Pride laughed outright this time, his eyes darkening in malicious humor. "You really think that Tom Riddle is my equal? He may have his own brand of immortality, but I am far superior to any human on this planet. Surely you've realized that, _Headmaster?_"

Dumbledore nodded, looking on the surface as if he was expecting such an answer, but Ed could tell his mind was reeling with new information. Whether it was the fact that Voldemort was also immortal, or it was that Pride was clearly lying to all his _allies,_ he wasn't sure.

Ed supposed they should have realized that Pride would never lower himself to work alongside a mere human. He had used so many of them back home—Marcoh, that creepy doctor, Kimblee—

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Fire.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

But if they were wrong about this—

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Destruction.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

"If you thought _that,_ I wonder what else you're wrong about!" Pride sounded amused as he broke Ed out of his thoughts, grinning at his growing horror. "Lust was right—humans really are foolish creatures. I'd love to stay and hear your theories, but that'd ruin all the fun…"

Several wizards yelled and ducked behind the shield as Pride began to throw shadows at the front doorstep in quick succession. Ed and Al blocked them with some difficulty; he wasn't holding back as much as he had before, and there were several times that Ed had to dive to stop a shadow from slipping in the doorway.

But just as quickly as it started, it stopped with a whispered word and a small _pop._ Ed flipped himself to his feet quickly to survey the dark street, eyes peeled for any sign that Pride was still there.

The small patch of light where he had been standing was empty; the only shadows visible were the natural ones, cast by the streetlamps and scruffy trees. _He's gone._

Al seemed to come to the same conclusion, for he beckoned Ed back inside, slamming the door before he let his guard down. "That…could have gone better," Sirius said after a moment, though he was eyeing both Elrics in what seemed to be awe. Ed realized rather belatedly that his acrobatics and Al's quick reflexes must have been pretty impressive, especially to those who had never seen them in action.

"Nobody's bleeding, right?" Ed shrugged, transmuting his arm back to normal. "And we learned a few things. _He's_ controlling _Voldemort_, we need to rethink everything that's going on, and…" He trailed off, thinking of that last breath of a word Pride had sent their way before disappearing.

"Did…did you hear what he said? Right at the end?" Al asked the room in general, obviously following the same line of thought. Color was quickly draining from his face, and Ed knew his own wasn't far behind as the implications of that single word sunk in. It could be taken many different ways, but in context—the conversation, and who the speaker was—Ed couldn't think of much else it could possibly be.

They just had to figure out how to stop him, how to defeat the most powerful being in the world before it happened again, before they became

_Sacrifices._

* * *

To Hermione's surprise, not too much changed at Hogwarts once Umbridge was Headmistress…at least on the surface. The entire atmosphere was much gloomier, surely, and everyone seemed too focused on hating Umbridge to do much learning, but they at least _attempted_ a sense of normalcy. "Aurors" still patrolled the school, and classes went on as normal—with the notable exception of Defense, which had been erased entirely.

Most importantly, the DA was still alive.

It met in much smaller groups, and Harry wasn't able to lead all of them, but the fact remained that it still _existed._ It was December fourth, more than two weeks after Dumbledore left, and the rebellion was still going strong.

Their numbers had increased with each meeting as more people got wind of its existence and wanted to join. Hermione, Harry, and Ron turned down no one, especially now that there was no Defense class to give even a semblance of learning. Everyone in the school _hated_ Umbridge, and she knew it; unfortunately, she also knew that she had total power over them all and wielded it gladly.

"Um…Hermione Granger, right?" She was startled out of her reverie in the library, looking up at the girl who had interrupted her. She looked to be a first year, with long, blonde hair, but what really threw Hermione off was the color accenting her robes.

Emerald green.

"Can I help you?" she eventually responded kindly, putting her quill down. It wasn't every day that a Slytherin talked to a Gryffindor—especially a Muggleborn. But this girl's expression showed no trace of a sneer, no sign of contempt; if anything, she seemed almost nervous.

"I—uh—I've got an older brother in Ravenclaw, and he said you've been—tutoring him…I was having a little trouble, so do you think…?"

Hermione merely stared at her in surprise for a moment. She understood the message quite clearly; the "code" was well-known throughout the DA. She had no doubts that it had spread to the dungeons as well…

But this girl, twirling the end of her ponytail but looking at Hermione with a steady gaze, was the first Slytherin to ask to join the group.

"Sure!" she said eventually, shrugging; however, she leaned toward the girl to make sure she understood the risks. "Umbridge _can't_ know. Make sure nobody in your house who might be sympathetic to her doesn't hear about it, right?"

The girl snorted. "Just because we're Slytherins doesn't mean we're stupid, no matter what the rest of you might think."

"Well, let's hope you're right," Hermione mumbled, digging into her bag and pulling out a Galleon. "This is how we communicate…"

The girl nodded through the explanation, waving as she eventually left the library. Hermione sighed, allowing a small grin to grow on her face. They were starting to attract Slytherins! Granted, she was a first year with close ties to Ravenclaw, but maybe this meant Slytherin house would cooperate with them!

The fact that it was due to a terrible war put a damper on that joy a bit, but the fact remained that something historical was happening.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Air.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

Maybe they'd be able to win their part of the war after all!

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Violence.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

A springiness that had long been absent from her step accompanied her all the way back to the common room.

* * *

"Miss Granger, a word?"

Hermione sent a confused shrug in Harry's and Ron's direction before walking up to speak to Professor McGonagall. Members of the DA had pointedly avoided talking to teachers who were members of the Order, and it seemed that the professors had the same idea. For McGonagall to openly talk to her after class…

A quick glance at the back of the room revealed that there were no Ministry spies attempting to listen in, which made her relax a bit. But if Umbridge got wind of this…

She reached the desk, shooing Harry and Ron out the door. If it was just _her_ talking to the professor, they could pass it off as asking a question about the lesson, but three students—especially three as close as they were—would certainly arouse suspicion.

"I've heard that you have taken it upon yourself to tutor some of the other students," McGonagall said as soon as the door shut behind Ron.

Hermione's mouth fell open; she didn't even try to conceal her surprise. They hadn't even hinted at it in a letter, too scared that Umbridge would pick up on it. And if word had spread to _one_ of the professors—

"Don't worry—Umbridge has no idea," McGonagall assured her quickly, correctly reading the terror on her face. "Only those of us who are trustworthy know that you are continuing. I must say, you've done an excellent job of hiding it. If Miss Weasley had not approached me, I never would have guessed."

"_Ginny?_" For the life of her, Hermione could not figure out why she would tell a professor about their covert meetings. Even if McGonagall was smart enough not to say anything and definitely on their side…

"Yes, she thought that it might be a good idea for a few members from each house to learn the Patronus charm. More specifically, she asked about our method of sending messages through them. I, for one, think it an excellent idea, in case something _does _end up happening here."

Hermione nodded slowly; there really was no other way to instantaneously send a message without Apparating or using the Floo. "Are you willing to teach us, then?"

"I think Mister Potter and Filius would have the best luck teaching the Patronus itself," she said, a hint of a smile appearing on her face. "But yes, once you have mastered that, I can teach you how to send a message. Compared to the charm itself, it really is quite easy."

"Wait…Professor Flitwick is going to help us, too?" Hermione couldn't help the surge of hopeful joy that raced through her. "You mean you all—"

The smile formed fully on McGonagall's face this time, nearly becoming a grin as she finished for her—"We hate her as much as you do, Miss Granger. Anything that could put a stop to this reign of tyranny—" _both at Hogwarts and throughout the country_—"is fair game for us."

Hermione was silent for a moment, taking it all in. McGonagall was helping. Flitwick was helping. Snape and Sprout and everyone else in the school was willing to help. She couldn't help the childlike grin growing on her face as she finally found her voice again—"Thank you so much!" she nearly squealed. "We'll—when would work best for Professor Flitwick? I'll talk to a few people from each house, see if they're interested…"

A very unprofessional snort answered her. Hermione didn't realize someone as dignified and straight-laced as McGonagall was capable of making such a sound. "He says tomorrow at six o'clock in his office would work well for him, if you can collect enough students by that time."

She nodded quickly, her eyes wide in excitement. She couldn't _wait_ to relate the news to Harry and Ron and the others—with the teachers on their side—

McGonagall smiled widely, putting a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "We'll all get through this. Edward and Alphonse, I'm sure, will find a way to—" Her eyes flickered to a point behind Hermione and she dropped her hand as something creaked. "Make sure you re-read the chapter on reptile-to-reptile transfiguration. If you're still having trouble, feel free to come to me for help." Her voice was suddenly business-like, formal. _Just like a student-teacher relationship should be._

Hermione raised an eyebrow but nodded slowly, reaching down to pick up her bag. "Thanks very much, Professor."

She nodded tersely, not saying another word. As Hermione turned to leave, she saw one of the Aurors making his way toward the front of the room. Hermione's mood plummeted again, saved from all-out dejection only by the thought that this would, eventually, get better once the teachers got involved.

But until then…business as usual.

* * *

She hadn't really noticed it before, but as she slipped into her usual Potions seat just as the bell rang, the Slytherins were acting rather…strange. Crabbe and Goyle were partners as usual (and, somehow, got a better grade than Harry and Ron half the time), but Malfoy, who usually paired off with Parkinson, was sitting next to Blaise Zabini. Parkinson, meanwhile, was seated next to Nott. _I thought those two couldn't stand each other… _An angry glower marred Malfoy's face, though Hermione had no guesses as to why, and he occasionally sent calculating glances toward Harry and—of all people—Neville.

She wished she had more time to figure out the glares, but Snape called the class to attention, his expression even more sour than usual. He also seemed to be observing Malfoy, Parkinson, and Nott. They all looked utterly exhausted, now that Hermione looked at them more closely. She was about to lean over and consult Harry and Ron about this—none of the three Slytherins in question were ones to lose sleep over homework—but Snape began talking.

"Today, you will be attempting to brew a Draught of Faith. The instructions…"

Hermione half-listened to his introduction, instead fixing her gaze on the strange trio across the room. Malfoy seemed to be at least _trying_ to pay attention, restoring some form of normalcy, but Parkinson and Nott were deep in conversation several feet to his left. Hermione couldn't hear even a bit of what they were saying, but they seemed to be casting glances around the room at specific students.

_Harry and Neville again._ What was going on? Were they really immature enough to try and pull some sort of prank? Especially with the way the school was run now…

Then Nott's gaze slid to Malfoy. His dulled eyes widened for a moment, gaining back some of their malevolent spark. He turned to Parkinson excitedly, speaking in the same low tone.

Hermione would have _killed_ for some sort of invisible Extendable Ear at this point. Whatever they were discussing, she had to assume that it was something bad. Even if there seemed to be a sort of grudging truce between the two houses, she was sure the Slytherins would not be above sacrificing Gryffindors to save their own skins.

She and Neville worked in relative silence on their potion, only speaking when necessary. Having Neville as a partner used to be a bit of a liability; she had to watch his every move carefully to be sure he didn't ruin the assignment. But with his newfound confidence, it seemed, came an increased aptitude for schoolwork. Even _Snape_ had been forced to give him an E on their previous assignment; Neville had been positively _glowing_ all afternoon.

As they sat back to let the cauldron boil for the required three minutes, Hermione turned to Neville and said in an undertone, "McGonagall held me back after class today. She said she was thinking of holding a study group for this last lesson, since it was pretty difficult…"

Neville's eyes widened fractionally and he opened his mouth wide before he remembered where he was. "That's really great of her," he finally said, his eyes shining with excitement. "When's she holding it?"

"Tomorrow at six, if you can make it. She said she only wanted a few people from each house, so we can just pass it on. I was thinking four or five, and…" She trailed off, the horrible feeling that she was being watched going down her spine. She turned slowly, pretending to check her book, while instead looking for the culprit.

Unsurprisingly, it looked like it had, again, been Nott and Parkinson. It was impossible to know for sure, though, for they had quickly looked away when she turned. It was obvious they were paying no attention at all to the assignment; instead of the deep purple the book had described, their potion was a bright, offensive orange. They had not lifted a finger to remedy it. As Snape passed by their table, he only shook his head and continued on.

But Hermione didn't miss the way his eyes sharpened as they lingered on the pair, who were too wrapped up in their quiet conversation to notice. Snape, then, had also noticed something odd…

"Well," Neville said, checking his watch before grinning over at her. "I'll definitely be there. I'll trust you to get the others?"

"Of—of course," she said after a moment, trying to remember what they had been talking about. "Has it been three minutes?"

"Just about," he nodded, picking up the sliced newt tails in front of him. Eyeing his watch carefully, he dropped them in at five-second intervals while Hermione sighed and tried to collect her thoughts.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Water.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_Not much we can do until they make their move,_ she thought morosely, picking up the tentacula roots and beginning to dice them.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Chaos...}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_Just as I thought it was getting better…_

* * *

The next day, as promised, a dozen students had congregated in Flitwick's office, along with Harry and the professor himself. Even that many being somewhere together was highly illegal, but the professor had put so many charms on the door that Hermione doubted anyone would ever find them.

"Now, as I understand it, you all need to learn to produce corporeal Patronuses," Flitwick said, standing before them all. "As soon as possible, correct?"

They all nodded, some of the others looking around rather nervously. Hermione, however, was confident in the abilities of everyone in the room to perform spectacularly. In Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, she had chosen two girls and two boys, fourth year and above, who had an exceptional aptitude for charms. That way, she reasoned, if anything happened in any of the houses—or any of the dorms—_someone_ could send a message before it was too late.

Even if this was a high-level N.E.W.T. charm and nearly everyone in the room was terrified of failing at this crucial point, they all knew they _had_ to succeed.

Flitwick began explaining the uses and theories of the charm, and Hermione allowed her mind to wander, as she had heard it several times already—both from a book and from Harry. She only tuned back in when he started on the topic only a select few knew about: communication.

"I'm not sure how it works, exactly," he shrugged, though Hermione highly doubted that. More that he wanted a proper member of the Order to explain, most likely. "But according to Minerva, there is a way to send messages instantaneously using Patronuses. She will be explaining that part to you, but it would be good for you to know that this is your ultimate goal. Now, I suppose we could get started, if there aren't any questions…"

Everyone simply stared at each other, eventually shaking their heads. "Excellent! Well, if you all are confident with the incantation and wand movement, you might as well try it out. Remember, a happy memory that fills you with warmth at the mere thought of it."

The room was silent for several moments while they all tried to think of such a memory. Hermione closed her eyes; she had a few vague thoughts of vacations in her childhood, but none of them "filled her with warmth."

(Now that she thought about it, it really was a testament to how seriously they were taking this that Ron had not started laughing at that "sappy" image.)

Her mind sped forward a few years to her time at Hogwarts. Learning that she was a witch, perhaps? That had certainly been a happy moment of her life, but it had been marred by the fact that she would be leaving her parents and everything she knew for a strange new world…

_There!_ If this memory didn't do it, she didn't know what would. A small smile appeared on her face as she recalled the scene, vivid as ever in her mind. The perpetual smell of an old bathroom mixed with the altogether horrible stench of the troll did not tarnish the memory in the slightest; the thought that _this was when I found friends_ overrode everything. She kept her eyes closed, waving her wand and whispering—

"_Expecto Patronum._"

Even though she had known not to expect success on her first try, it was still rather upsetting to see that she had produced nothing more than a slight blue mist. She waved her wand through it, watching it dissipate into the air as Flitwick turned toward her, beaming.

"That must have been a particular powerful memory, Miss Granger, for you to have produced mist when you missed the _flick_ in the wand movement."

Harry and Ron laughed, but there was no maliciousness in the sound; she only grinned a bit, feeling her face flush. Nothing, really, could ruin her mood at the moment; her body was so overwrought by the strong emotions brought back by the memory that she could think of little else. Harry and Ron rushing to save her, Harry and Ron helping her up, Harry and Ron walking with her back to the common room… They all swam before her eyes as she felt them well up with tears. Ron and Harry—her friends—her _best friends_—rushed to her, concern clear on their faces—_just like all those years ago_—asking what was wrong, if she was hurt—

_The Philosopher's Stone. The basilisk. Saving Sirius. The Triwizard Tournament. And now this horrible war…_ They had stuck together through everything, even when others would have given up in despair. _And that will never change, no matter where we're headed._

"Yeah," she said, pulling her baffled friends into a tight hug as tears streamed down her cheeks. "It was the best."

_._

_._

_._

_._

* * *

_Earth._

By far the stablest of all the components of the universe, it represents rigidity and permanence. No matter what happens, no matter what anyone does, it will simply continue to exist. Such constancy is to be commended, certainly, but along with such a thing comes great power. In the wrong hands, it will bring about nothing but tragedy.

* * *

.

.

.

.


	18. I, Juggernaut

**XVIII**  
**I, Juggernaut**

_I need you to find five students, in either fourth or fifth year, that match these descriptions._

_They need to be purebloods; however, if you can find a place for Harry Potter, that is also acceptable._

_Fail, and you will be punished. Succeed, and I may allow you to live…_

* * *

Ron grinned widely as he watched his silver scotty dog run circles around Hermione's otter. He knew it was probably due to all the positive energy concentrated in Flitwick's office, but he hadn't felt so carefree in _months_. He had just succeeded in sending a message across the room to Harry with his Patronus, and he couldn't help but laugh as it slobbered a great wet _kiss_ on the otter. (He briefly considered naming the dog…but that thought was banished from his mind quickly. He would _never_ hear the end of that from Fred and George.) Now he watched, a rather silly grin still adorning his face, as Luna took her turn—her Patronus a lively rabbit.

"We're gonna be fine, aren't we?" he said to Hermione. It wasn't at all about reassuring himself; he just felt so upbeat, so positive, that he simply had to share the sentiment with his best friend.

Hermione smiled back, her expression a bit more reserved; however, her eyes shone with just as much happiness. "Technically, we're only feeling this way because—"

"Yeah, yeah, don't ruin the moment," he cut her off, slinging an arm around her shoulders as he watched Neville's lion prowl around the room. "Who woulda thought, huh? I guess these things really do get our true personalities. Imagine Neville's face if he had learned this stuff last year…"

Hermione laughed. "I've always known he's had it in him," she said, watching his face light up as the lion returned to settle by his feet. "He just needed confidence…"

"So what does the otter say about you, then? That you're small and furry and love to swim?" Ron couldn't help but ask, ducking as Hermione tried to swat him playfully. Both of them laughed and continued looking around the room. Ron, honestly, had not seen any of the students so happy in _months_; many were running around with their Patronuses, laughing like they didn't have a care in the world. Ron couldn't even bring himself to _think_ of why they were learning this charm in the first place.

"Otters are very intelligent creatures, you know," Hermione said after a moment, smiling fondly as her Patronus whacked Ron's on the head with more success than she had had. "Dogs are especially loyal and friendly. You should tell Snuffles about yours—I bet he'd be really pleased."

Ron's grin grew wider; he hadn't even thought of that! "Well, once we get back there tomorrow, we'll have to show off! Finally, something we can do that Ed and Al can't!"

Hermione laughed loudly at that. Usually, Ron would feel a twinge of…something…not quite jealousy…as he remembered that he was friends with three of the smartest human beings on the _planet_, but even such a sobering thought couldn't bring his mood down today. It was December fifteenth, the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, and it seemed that not even the looming shadow of Umbridge and the power she still wielded could kill their festive spirit. Hagrid had never come back to the school, but the other teachers had brought in his usual dozen Christmas trees; the castle was decked from the towers to the dungeons. The foot of snow outside completed the perfect picture.

Harry made his way over to them after receiving Luna's message, a cheerful grin also spreading across his face. "Pity there's no mistletoe there, huh?" he asked innocently, pointing above their heads. "I bet Flitwick would conjure some if you asked…"

Ron, normally, would have laughed it off nervously, separating himself from Hermione, but today was different. _Special. _"Such a pity," he agreed, shaking his head. "Now, if you could only get Cho and some more, you'd be just as happy!"

Harry's grin grew wicked, swatting at Ron's head with no real force behind it. "Ginny says Lavender's been eyeing you, you know…if you two don't make it official soon, she might try something…"

Hermione glanced up at Ron, who nodded back, his grin growing ever wider. As one, they lunged at their friend, tackling him to the ground in a flurry of good-natured yelling and much tangling of limbs.

For once, Ron ignored what everyone around them might be thinking. He was fairly certain they would laugh it off, anyway; everyone was too drunk on the happiness the Patronuses produced. He wouldn't be surprised if they joined in as well.

He was laughing; Hermione was laughing; Harry was laughing; in that moment, time stood still, and everything was perfect. Worry lines long present around their eyes were replaced by laugh lines, squinted in joy as if Pride and Voldemort had never existed. The sleepy haze that seemed to perpetually cloud their eyes was gone; it was as if the biggest thing they had to worry about was what his mother would be making for Christmas dinner. Their pallid cheeks had gained rosy color again, as if the next fight Ron would have to participate in would be with Ed and Al, competing over who could eat the most at dinner.

The strained smiles, the forced laughs, the dark bags ever-present under their eyes—they had all vanished as if they had never existed, and the three of them were lost to the world in all but each other. Ron now understood, as he lay flat on his back next to his two best friends, why Hermione had started bawling the first time she conjured her Patronus.

Tears of happiness were forming in the corners of his own eyes, after all.

Nothing could be more perfect.

* * *

Eventually, all the students dispersed from the office in small groups, letting their Patronuses dissipate into the air. Everyone was still nearly _glowing_ from the hour they had spent in the lesson, chattering excitedly about all the different animals and how successful they had been at the task.

"Who would have thought—_Neville—_"

"I _know!_ I thought Ginny would have had the lion, but I guess a horse suits her too—"

"I can send a message halfway across the castle! Harry had to get up to Gryffindor Tower before it couldn't reach him—this is really excellent—"

Ron laughed heartily as he let all the voices fade into a cheerful hum around him. With one arm slung around Harry's shoulders and the other around Hermione's, he felt on top of the world as they headed back to the common room. Patronus mastered, best friends at his side, less than two weeks until Christmas…what more could a bloke ask for? Absolutely nothing could ruin this perfect night; he was sure of it.

Eventually, they found themselves sitting back in the common room, watching the room empty around them. For once, Ron felt no need to fill the silence with idle talking; the three of them were simply content to sit by the fire, watching as it slowly died down to smoking embers.

"Well, we should probably all go to bed," Hermione said after a while, stretching her arms above her head but making no immediate motion to move. They were the only ones left in the common room; everyone else had gone to bed in anticipation of the train ride in the morning. "I expect your parents will want you to be _awake_ to greet them when you arrive…"

Ron snorted. "They should know me by now…" But his words were cut off by a traitorous yawn, betraying the fact that he really was more tired than he was letting on. At some point, they had come down from the high their Patronuses had caused, leaving them all more tired than ever. Why couldn't they just sleep on the couches…

"C'mon, lazy-arse," Harry laughed, whacking him lightly on the back of the head as he took the initiative and stood up. "Show off your Patronus to everyone tomorrow—Sirius'll like it…but you can't do that if you're asleep!"

Grumbling to himself about stupid dorms being on the stupid top floor and how his stupid bed (well, not really…his bed was actually quite awesome) was so ridiculously far away, Ron stood up and followed his friend to the staircase leading to the boys' dorms. Waving lazily to Hermione across the room, he eventually found himself upstairs, slipping into his pajamas and falling onto his bed.

Mumbling a "night" to Harry and anyone else who might have been up, he quickly drifted off to long-forgotten pleasant dreams.

* * *

Much earlier than he expected, Ron was awoken violently and unexpectedly by hoarse yelling from his right. He turned to look, but he could see very little in the dim light.

"Harry?" he guessed as he sat up blearily, pulling the curtains aside to stare at the adjacent bed. It wasn't uncommon for Harry to have nightmares, so he was preparing to pad over to his best friend's bed and wake him; then he heard him startle awake, panting for breath.

_That_ wasn't especially common.

"Harry?" he tried again, a hint of alarm lacing his tone this time. Now that he thought on it, he thought he had heard a sort of strange hissing—_Parseltongue—_between the yells and twisting of sheets. Between that and the violent awakening Harry had experienced, Ron knew this couldn't be any ordinary nightmare. "HARRY! Mate, are you—?"

He was at Harry's side before he even realized he had moved, shaking his shoulder harshly to try and bring him back to awareness. He was tangled in his sheets, sopping wet with sweat and shaking violently. Ron continued to call his name, waking up Neville, Dean, and Seamus in the process and causing them to run over.

Harry's eyes flashed, but before Ron could calm him down, he leaned over and retched all over Ron's bare feet. He barely noticed, anxiously waiting for the heaves to subside, trying to figure out what had caused such a horrible reaction. Could Pride get into people's _minds_ as well? Ed and Al had never said anything about such a power, but—

"He's really ill," Neville said, sounding equal parts worried and terrified. "Should we call someone?"

Ron didn't even think to respond; trusting Neville to take the initiative himself, he continued calling out to his friend, sheer terror overwhelming his voice. _Just_ when they thought everything was starting to look up—

At long last, Harry righted himself, still looking very white as he stared up at Ron with unfocused, fear-filled eyes. "Your dad—your dad's…been attacked…"

Before Ron could even begin to process what Harry meant by that, before he could realize its implications, a horrible _cracking_ sounded from the direction of the stairs. The five of them spun quickly to see the door crumble; it fell to pieces as the dim light from the staircase did its best to illuminate the room.

Ron was heading for his wand before he had even realized he had moved; anything that smashed a door in at two in the morning had to be something _bad_. Before he could take even two steps, though, several tendrils of darkness flashed into the room. One caught him on his right and sent him flying into the stone wall behind him. His head was throbbing, and his hair felt wet; what he suspected were cracked ribs made every breath a battle as he attempted to sit up.

And then he saw an arm laying on the ground.

It was only after a moment that he registered the long, freckled arm as his own. It took a moment more to realize that he was screaming. Crippling pain shot through his arm (_where it should be, it's not there anymore, holy fucking shit I'm missing an arm_) and he doubled over in the space between Harry's bed and his own, slipping in the ever-growing puddle of sick and blood, grasping the stump of what had been his right arm desperately as he tried to block out the pain.

His head and chest were nothing in comparison; even as his ribs screamed in protest, he continued to clutch at his arm in shock and terror. Blood splashed to the floor despite his efforts, and he realized though his veil of numb horror that _we're all going to die tonight._

Four other shrieking voices cut through his Hell, and his mind was finally wrenched back to reality. He glanced up through hazy eyes to see those same black things (Arms? Snakes? He wasn't even sure anymore) _hoisting Harry from his bed,_ ignoring his yells and desperate struggles. And then he saw Neville in the air as well, writhing like a fish out of water, yelling in a terrified voice for Ron or Dean or Seamus to get him his wand.

But Dean and Seamus were quite busy on their own, dodging and cursing the black things with all their energy. They seemed to be _toying_ with the boys, Ron thought; they weren't moving at the barely-visible speed he had been attacked with. Harry and Neville continued to dangle in the air, yelling themselves hoarse, trying to kick themselves free and screaming things that Ron's muddled brain couldn't possibly comprehend.

He knew he was missing something to the situation; he just couldn't figure out what it was. The pain, blood loss, and exhaustion had combined to make his brain a jumbled mess. Maybe, if he fell asleep, he would wake to find that this was a horrible dream…

"Ron! RON!" Harry's terrified voice finally broke through his stupor, causing him to look up again, away from the growing mess of blood splattered in front of him. He was still having trouble keeping up with what was going on. He could see both Dean and Seamus up and moving; they weren't seriously injured. But something was obviously trying to kidnap Harry and Neville, and it had left him for dead, bleeding out on the floor.

"Ron! Listen to me!" Harry sounded desperate, and he did his best to focus his blurry gaze on his friend. But before he could say any more, the blackness snaked up around his mouth, cutting off any attempts at communication. Harry was not wearing his glasses, and his wand was sitting on his bedside table; he was utterly powerless, utterly defenseless against this monster attacking them.

Something sparked in Ron's brain at this realization, driving it down to cold, hard facts. This—thing—obviously thought he was down for good, as nothing was attacking him. It was black, fast, strong—_could cut through bone—_

_Pride._ Pride had invaded their dormitory, doing his best to incapacitate the others while he took Harry and Neville. He had never seen the monster himself, but he knew it was the only thing that made sense.

And, he realized, he knew exactly what had to be done. The problem was doing it—subtly—when he was missing his dominant arm.

Doing his best to stay as low to the ground as possible and fighting against the dizzying blackness on the edges of his vision, he made his way toward Harry's bedside table. His own wand was too far away—he would have to get around his bed—that was out of the question. He had used Harry's wand before, and while the results weren't spectacular, it had _worked._

His knee slipped in the pool of blood as his left hand reached out to grasp his friend's wand. He forced himself to ignore it, to focus on the task at hand (_it's just a little blood, stop being such a baby, Ed's lost twice as much as this_), chancing a glance over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't too late. Harry and Neville, inexplicably, were still hanging in the air. Whatever Pride was doing, he didn't seem to be in any great hurry.

_Or he's enjoying this._

With a surge of triumph, he finally felt his fingers wrap around the rough handle of Harry's wand. He pulled it down awkwardly, fumbling for the correct grip in the hand he had never used for practicing magic.

_You've only got one shot at this, Weasley._ He took a deep, steadying breath, trying to block out the pain and light-headedness, and recalled the perfect evening he had just spent with his friends. The perfect evening, right before the hellish night.

Pointing the wand under Harry's bed in the desperate hope that Pride would not see, he whispered, "_Expecto Patronum._"

He almost fell over from relief when he saw the scotty dog materialize in front of him. It seemed like ages ago, now, that it had been leaping around Flitwick's office without a care in the world. But now, despite the cover of the large four-poster, it illuminated the room in a blue glow. Ron knew he had mere seconds before he was killed.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Fire.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_I have to save them…_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Destruction.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

"To Minerva McGonagall," he breathed, hoping the charm had heard. The Patronus changed subtly, showing the message had begun. "Help…Pride…Harry and Neville…"

His hand was shaking too badly; the world was spinning in wild circles around him. The wand fell from his nerveless grip, and the dog ran off into the air. Ron sagged in relief and exhaustion, collapsing flat on his back, trying in vain to slow the flow of blood from his upper arm. One of Pride's shadows left Harry—the one around his mouth—to dart straight for Ron, who no longer had the energy to do anything.

Distantly, he thought he heard yelling coming from the direction of the door, pounding, screaming, as if someone was trying to break in. Pride had sealed it off with his shadows, no doubt. There was no surviving for him.

_Harry…Hermione…_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Earth.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

The shadow seemed to be drawing toward his abdomen in slow motion; Ron couldn't help but watch its progression with unfocused eyes. He thought he heard Harry screaming for him to move, his voice rising to levels of terror Ron had never heard, but he did not have the strength to do anything anymore.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Power.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_I hope you beat the bastard…_

* * *

Romilda had never thought of herself as a hero, but she knew she had to do _something_ when one of her roommates was suddenly lifted from her bed in the middle of the night.

She was screaming fit to raise the dead, kicking the things—weird black arms—with enough force to splinter her headboard, but it didn't faze the monster in the slightest. Their other three roommates were cowering hysterically in their beds, not helping at all. While Romilda had to admit that this was easily the most frightening experience of her life, she was far too stubborn to just let one of her roommates get kidnapped.

She jumped off her bed, her mind flooded with panic, wand clenched tight in her badly-shaking hand. She could think of nothing more than _get it away_ as she shot off as many curses as she could think of at the arms holding tight to Ginny. They seemed to falter a bit—_just a bit, after all that?_—before splitting, a few heading straight for her, suddenly turning into sharp blades.

"_Romilda!_" Ginny screeched, but she wasn't stupid; she was already moving, jumping over trunks and bags on her way to the door. None of her spells were effective—but if she could get out—get one of the professors—

Her gymnastics training in primary school and the physical work in the DA were all that saved her life. She saw a blade racing toward her from her left, and she had to fall into a quick roll to avoid being decapitated. She finally arrived at the door, ready to slam it open and run like Hell itself was at her heels—

But it was sealed shut with solid, inky blackness.

She spun, barely ducking another strike as she tried to figure out what to do. Those solid—things—still had a tight grip on Ginny, and her three friends seemed either unwilling or unable to help. Romilda didn't know where this heroic streak had come from, but she knew she couldn't give up on it now as she made her way toward her roommate, trying to pull her down herself.

It was utterly ineffective; if anything, the arms only seemed to wind around her tighter. Romilda suffered a deep gash through her forearm when she did not jump away in time.

"They're _shadows!_" Ginny said loudly and quickly, as if she expected to be cut off at any moment. "Make it—"

She squeaked as the—shadows—began to roam up her neck, squeezing threateningly. But as Romilda dodged away again, she knew immediately what she had to do. She may have been a bit of an airhead at times, yes, but she was quick on the uptake when it mattered. She made a mad dash for the window, yanking the curtains shut to block out the moonlight. They were _shadows;_ if there was no light to create them with, then—

But it wasn't enough; there was some sort of light source on the other side of the room. _The bathroom._ She made to rush that way as well, but the shadows caught her as well, wrapping almost calmly up her legs and forcing her to stop dead.

Even as she filled her lungs to scream at one of the others to get to the bathroom light, shadows slammed clean through the stone wall behind her, crushing it to pieces and bathing the dormitory in bright moonlight. It was over.

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Air.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

She realized far too late what was happening as the shadows forced her toward the ruined wall. As she suddenly found herself hanging by a single ankle hundreds of feet above the open grounds, her mind was filled with the single, horrifying thought that _I am going to die._

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Violence.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

A piercing scream tore through the night as she fell.

* * *

The dormitory was dark and damp, but Blaise had never minded it; he simply lay in his bed, surrounded by the loud snores of Crabbe and Goyle, not sleepy in the least. He heard shifting from the direction of Draco's and Theodore's beds from time to time, and he knew they were wide awake as well.

He didn't know why, but there was a heavy feeling that he could only call _dread_ permeating the room. It had started around ten, right after curfew, concentrated in the dungeons. Crabbe and Goyle were oblivious, falling asleep quick as always, but the three of them—and most of the house, Blaise was sure—couldn't help but feel that they were being watched by a very large, very powerful predator.

Draco, Theodore and Pansy had been exchanging nervous glances all day…almost as if they knew what was going to happen. But the three of them had been acting very strange for _weeks,_ now, and Blaise knew better than to ask about it.

Theodore had insisted they leave a torch glowing in their usually-pitch-black dormitory, and the rest of them had agreed, more than a little confused. Blaise thought he had seen a flicker of terror cross Draco's face before he had excused himself to the bathroom.

The silence was suffocating, drowning him…he wanted to find out the cause of this, if only to have some peace of mind…

At exactly two o'clock, the ceiling caved in.

Heavy furniture from the common room fell all around them, a couch missing Blaise by _inches._ He hastily summoned a shield charm, hearing Draco and Theodore do the same. But Crabbe and Goyle were not so lucky; awakened unexpectedly and abruptly from deep sleep, they only stared around and blinked rather stupidly. Only when a table crashed down onto Goyle's legs did he seem to wake up fully; the strangled roar that issued from his throat was sure to wake half the house.

When the avalanche subsided, Blaise cautiously let down the shield, staring around at the carnage. The entire dormitory was wrecked, and there was a veritable _mountain_ of furniture separating each bed from the other. He started to climb over the debris in front of him, intent on finding out _what the hell had just happened,_ but Theodore let out a little squeak and motioned for him to get down.

"_What?_" he asked, very annoyed. If _this_ was what he and Draco and Pansy had been planning—what kind of prank was that? _We could have been killed—_

But Theodore pointed toward the hole in the ceiling, visibly swallowing as his hand trembled. Blaise looked up, still barely containing his rage, to see only inky blackness where the hole should have been.

It wasn't the natural darkness of the common room; Blaise could tell that much. It looked solid, almost as if someone had put a huge black sheet right over the hole.

_What the—?_

Before he could demand that Nott explain what the hell was going on, before he could so much as _move_, long arms extended from the blackness, heading for each bed. Blaise yelled, kicking wildly, as he was lifted bodily into the air. His arms were tightly bound at his sides, though he doubted he could do anything even if he could use his wand. What kind of monster _was _this? A lethifold? He had always thought those were like Dementors, but he wouldn't be surprised if this ate him alive—

"Don't struggle!" he heard Nott call, sounding more than a little terrified. He turned toward his roommate, who was also lifted from his bed, white-faced and visibly shaking. "He won't kill you if you don't struggle!"

Well, wasn't that just _fantastic._ Blaise did stop his writhing—it wasn't doing him any good, anyway—and glanced around, feeling the color drain from his face as he saw all five of them dangling in the air. Goyle's legs were bent at an odd angle, and he continued to shriek loudly, apparently disregarding the entire situation, drowning in his own pain.

"What's going on, if it's not going to kill us?" he finally asked Theodore, keeping his uncaring façade up. All he wanted to do, really, was burst into terrified hysterics, but that would not do anything for his reputation or their current problem. So he reined it in, forcing himself to stay calm for as long as possible.

As if in answer to his question, the shadow holding Draco jerked him toward the center of the room, causing him to scream again and look toward Theodore with wide, terror-soaked eyes.

"What's going on? I thought—"

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Water.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

But the blackness wrapped around his throat, stopping him dead. His eyes grew impossibly wide as he stared around at the four of them, begging them silently for help. But Blaise knew he could do nothing. Even if given the chance, who, really, would try to fight against this monster?

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**{Chaos.}**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

Draco let out a sob as he disappeared into the blackness of the ceiling.

* * *

Padma found herself sleeping on the common room couches that night after a DA meeting headed by Fred and George. The Patronus group had had a meeting, but the Weasley twins had thought it a terrible waste of "ass-kicking time" for the rest of them; they had quite gleefully put them all through a long hour of exercise. She had barely had the strength to get up to Ravenclaw Tower and collapse on a couch before falling asleep.

She awoke suddenly a little before two in the morning, confused for a moment before she got her bearings. Luna was curled up on a nearby chair, breathing softly and smiling in her sleep. Padma realized a large, blue blanket had been draped over her while she slept, and she smiled as she sat up. Even if Luna was strange, Padma had to admit that she was a sweet girl.

The chair, while comfortable and close to the fire, did not look like the best place to sleep…unless she wanted a terrible crick in her neck on the train ride home. Padma stood up slowly, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her body, and padded over, preparing to wake the girl and send her up to bed.

Before she could reach her, though, the ornate wooden door that led to the rest of the castle was smashed to pieces. Luna startled awake, and Padma spun clumsily to see what it was. She thought the door was enchanted—no one could just—

Long black tendrils raced into the room, one after the other, some blocking the windows, while others barricaded the doors to the dormitories. Most pooled to block the hole they had created in the wall, leaving maybe half a dozen to stay hanging in the air, turned toward them threateningly.

Padma let the blanket drop from her shoulders, plunging her hand into her pocket for her wand. She didn't know what in the world this was, but it sure _looked_ threatening, and with the way Harry had been pressing the DA—

Luna seemed to have the same idea; she pulled out her own wand and looked warily at the blackness. "You're…"

It struck.

Padma shrieked as the—things—nearly sliced clean through her right wrist. She dropped her wand and stumbled back, watching in horror as they headed straight for Luna. "MOVE!"

The girl stood stock-still for a moment longer, continuing to stare. "Homunculus?"

She thought she heard a laugh, but she couldn't be sure when it sounded more ethereal than human, coming from all around them. "LUNA!" she screamed, trying again to get her attention. Her fascination with the impossible was tolerable—interesting, even—but now was not the time. Homunculi were _myths_, and—

Luna seemed to come to her senses at last, jumping to the side at the last moment to keep from getting sliced in half. Before either girl could even _blink_, more arms raced toward her, cutting her wand cleanly in two and lifting her into the air.

Luna let out a little yelp; it wasn't really a scream, but Padma could see the terror in her wide, pale eyes. "Leave her alone!" she yelled with more bravado than she actually possessed, her right arm hanging uselessly as she raced forward. Magic be damned; Luna was her _friend,_ and if this monster wanted to kidnap her—

She reached for Luna's legs with her good hand, yanking as hard as she could against the unbelievable power of this monster. Despite her extensive reading, despite being in the house of "wit and learning," she had never heard of anything like this. It didn't even seem to have a definite _form_, because she was sure there weren't that many arms before.

She felt something wrap around her middle for a moment before she was flying through the air, slamming hard into the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw across the room. She stood up slowly, her vision blurring as she tried to focus on Luna again.

"Padma, stay away!" Honest terror filled Luna's voice; she sounded more grounded in reality than Padma had ever heard her. "Homunculi are too powerful, you can't—"

The girl's speech, the pounding in her head, and what sounded like yelling from the direction of the dormitory stairs all blurred together into a muddled mess in Padma's mind. She had no doubt that they were trapped here until the monster let them leave; nobody could get in, and nobody could get out. She was the only one who could protect Luna, and she would…or die trying.

_This is what the DA was all about._

She ran toward them again, not even bothering to pick up her wand, intent only on saving the girl at the mercy of this terrible beast. She thought she heard another laugh, malevolent this time, and a dangerous voice—

"_Foolish humans…_"

She was flying through the air again.

Her head hit the wall with a resounding _crack._

And then there was nothing.

_._

_._

_._

_._

* * *

_Aether._

Said to make up everything the four other elements cannot, it is incorporeal, unable to be truly seen. Some say that it is what makes up the heavens and everything they contain; others, that it is simply what man cannot hope to understand. If this power were to be properly harnessed, it would be unlike anything mankind has ever known. In the wrong hands, it will bring about nothing but tragedy.

* * *

.

.

.

.

Ed was shaken awake by Sirius early in the morning, bleary-eyed, confused, and irritated. "What is it?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as Sirius started to wake up Al.

"Pride's attacking Hogwarts," he said, his voice shaking as he threw Ed's clothes toward him. "We need to get over there—"

Ed was already out of bed, throwing on his coat over his pajama shirt and yanking on his boots. "What's he doing?" he asked, heading for the door with Al not far behind. His voice was one of forced calm; he was _already inside _the school—who knew what he could have already done—?

"All McGonagall had to go off of was a Patronus from Ron—it sounded like he was trying to hurt Harry and Neville—"

"How are we getting there?" Al asked quickly once they all arrived in the kitchen. His voice shook despite his obvious effort to stay calm. Ed looked around the room, his gaze lingering on the fireplace before remembering what had happened _last_ time they used the Floo. Then the great red bird from Dumbledore's office caught his eye, sitting on the sink. It was holding—of all things—a cookie tin. He wasn't sure how much that would help them, but—

"It's a portkey," Sirius said quickly, taking it from the bird's grasp. It disappeared in a flash of fire. "It'll teleport us to Hogwarts. Unauthorized ones are illegal, but that's the least of our worries…" He held out the tin expectantly, and Ed took hold of it, pushing his doubt to the side. If Harry and Neville—and all the other people in the castle—were in danger—

"One…two…three!" Sirius said, apparently as quickly as the magical process would allow. Ed seemed to be flying for a few dizzying seconds while his stomach tried to stay behind; finally, he landed unsteadily in McGonagall's office.

"Oh, thank Merlin!" The professor was rushing from the doorway, her face pure white. "All we know so far is that he's attacking Gryffindor Tower, but he blocked off the dormitories and the Fat Lady's portrait—we can't get in—"

"Go check the other houses," Ed said quickly. "Send us a Patronus if we're needed there. Are they hurt?" If he got his hands on Pride—what could he _possibly_ need with Hogwarts students? Or was he just doing this for fun?

"Mister Weasley sounded very weak," she said, her eyes hardening as she hastened with them to the door. "Nobody knows anything—we need to—Sirius, if you would head to Umbridge's office and make sure she's—"

"Right." Sirius' face was stony, and Ed knew he wanted to accompany them to Gryffindor Tower, but they may have already been out of time. _We can argue later._

He and Al made it to the Tower in record time, dashing up stairs and careening around corners. The Fat Lady's portrait was demolished; it looked like Pride _had_ been barricading the hole. _That's why we didn't arrive here in the first place._ But instead of blocking the entrance, the few shadows remaining along the corridor simply stayed in place, a dangerous-sounding laugh coming from all around them.

_"Maybe you're already too late…"_

The both of them growled loudly, vaulting into the room and both heading for the boys' dorms. Some stupid charm wouldn't let them in the girls'—of all the spells to have on a goddamned _staircase_—so they'd have to hope Hermione and Ginny and everyone else would be able to hold up until McGonagall was able to get over from the other Houses.

Ed wanted to _scream_ at the fact that they were _deserting_ people in dire need of help, but he forced himself to focus on the boys first. _If we get everything figured out fast enough, everyone will be okay._

(He just had to keep telling himself that.)

"Oi! What's going on?" he yelled loudly as they finally approached the large, near-hysterical crowd near the top of the staircase. It seemed that all the boys had congregated in the narrow stairwell, packed tightly together amidst the countless tendrils of Pride's power. Ed nearly swore at their stupidity—if the Homunculus wanted to kill them, the stairs would be a bloodbath—there was absolutely no room to move—

Several surprised shouts followed them as they shoved their way to the front of the crowd. The white-faced Weasley twins and a few other older students were there, staring alternately at the Elrics and at the place where the door had been. Pride had quite seamlessly sealed it off, leaving no room for any spells to get through.

"They're all still in there?" Al asked Fred urgently, striding quickly to stand next to him. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Ron stopped screaming a minute ago," he said, his voice shaking terribly. "Harry's been yelling for him, but he must have…passed out…"

They were all thinking the same thing, but nobody had the heart to voice it aloud: _Or he's dead._

"All right. Everyone, down to the common room," Ed said loudly, shooing away everyone but the Weasley twins and Lee. "You'll just get in the way. Wait for McGonagall or someone to tell you what to do."

"We can't just _leave_ them!" a short boy with mousy hair said incredulously. "Harry's in there—and Ron—and—"

"Yes, we know who's in there," he said impatiently, "but if Pride decides to attack us here, _we're all dead._ Get your arses downstairs or I'll _make_ you go."

Everyone's eyes seemed to shift to Al for a moment, as if expecting him to rebuke his brother, but he merely waved a hand distractedly, yelling through the door to those trapped inside. Ed could hear Harry's near-hysterical yells quite clearly amidst the retreating jumble of annoyed mutterings—

"Ron—his arm—and he got him right in the stomach_—_"

"Is he breathing?" Al was saying back, his brow creased in deep worry…to anyone who didn't know him well, at least. Ed could see that his little brother was one step away from a breakdown, but doing his best to stay calm and strong for Harry and Fred and George and everyone else who _needed_ him to stay in control.

"I think so—I can't—"

He was cut off suddenly, but Ed almost immediately heard two roars of rage—Dean and Seamus. "Let them go!" Seamus sounded beyond furious as they continued shouting different spells. Ed could not see anything through the thick block of shadows, not even the light of spells being cast. All he had to go on were the sounds emanating from the room…which were very nearly worse.

"Do you have anything that makes it pitch black or blinding light?" he muttered to Fred, hoping against all odds that Pride either wouldn't hear or wouldn't care. It was odd, how passive he was being toward the rest of them…

Almost as if he was enjoying it. It was all just a game to him at this point…

George's eyes widened. "The Powder! It's not perfected yet, but—"

"Go get it. As much as you can," Al said quickly as Ed raced down the stairs, intent on reaching the fireplace. They could wipe out the shadows for one round, yes, but Pride could just send them right back. He'd have to make a carbon shield for the entrance to the common room—

He ignored the shouts from the boys assembled around the room, desperate for news, and made quick work of every bit of coal in the fireplace.

"Elric! What's—"

"_Not now!_" Ed roared, already lugging the heavy shield toward the gaping portrait hole. "If you could just _wait_—"

A silvery tabby cat materialized in front of him, its mouth opening to speak McGonagall's message. "_He's also holding the Ravenclaw common room and one of the Slytherin dormitories. He is located somewhere in the dungeons, but Severus isn't sure where yet._"

Ed swore loudly, splitting the shield into three thinner parts before he raced up the boys' stairs again. This was bad—he had infiltrated so far into the castle already—and if _Ron _was seriously injured, who else—?

He shook his head as he finally arrived at the top of the stairs, praying to the god he didn't believe in that Pride didn't go on the offensive before they could pull this off. Fred's and George's faces were so hopeful, so trusting that he and Al could save their little brother, and he didn't know that he could bear failure at this point. Betraying the trust of the innocents in Hogwarts meant sacrificing them all to Pride. That was an impossible price that Ed _refused_ to pay.

They just had to hope their luck held out until the very end.


	19. The Eleventh Hour

**XIX**  
**The Eleventh Hour**

George arrived upstairs at the same time as Ed, a box labeled "Peruvian Darkness Powder" held tight in his grasp. "One packet of this _should _block out any light in a hundred-meter radius, but it's not perfected yet…"

Ed reached into the box quickly, grabbing one of the small packets. "It's the best thing we've got. Al, take a couple, and one of the shields, and go to Ravenclaw. Whichever of you is fastest, get down to Slytherin."

Lee stepped forward, his pale face full of confusion. "Shield?"

Ed realized suddenly that he had not been there over the summer; unless Fred and George had filled him in, he had no idea what was going on. "It's a carbon shield," he said quickly, "the only thing that can stop his attacks. Put it over whatever hole he made down there."

Lee nodded and was gone, Al not far behind. "Right, you two," Ed said, turning toward Fred and George. They were still standing by the blocked doorway, looking dazed and lost. "As soon as you're able, get in there and help Ron. I'll come back up once the portrait hole's secured."

They nodded quickly, and Ed dashed downstairs again, taking them two at a time before arriving back in the common room. A nervous glance toward the shadows lining most of the room revealed that Pride had not shifted his position at all. He could only hope that this was because of some sort of magical barrier and not a trap...but he had to take his chances.

_We still don't know what's going on with the girls._

"All of you!" he yelled across the room, instantly grabbing the boys' attention. "We're going to get rid of the shadows—but you have to hold this shield against the portrait hole so he can't get back in." He gestured toward the large sheet of carbon laying nearby. "Make sure there aren't _any_ gaps, all right?"

They all nodded, eager to help, moving en masse to pick up the shield and position it near the gaping hole. Ed quickly ripped open the package of powder, dumping it at his feet, and the room was engulfed in total blackness.

He thought he heard a distant scream of rage, but that did not matter; Pride had to be gone from Gryffindor now—there was no way for him to materialize—

"I don't care what he tries—don't put it down!" he yelled, already running blindly toward the boys' staircase. "He won't be able to get through as long as you hold it there!"

A few of them grunted in response as his foot finally hit the base of the staircase. He dashed up, entering his old dormitory within several seconds. It was very dark save for the cluster of wands centered around a point on the far side of the room. The entire place was wrecked; there were remnants of the once-proud four posters scattered dangerously across the floor. But he reached the others quickly, nearly shoving Seamus out of the way to get a clear view of Ron.

Harry had not been exaggerating; there was blood—far too much of it—constantly spreading across the floor around his prone form. His right arm was laying several feet to the side, half-buried by the wreckage of one of the beds, and a huge gash in his stomach was gushing blood.

But the fact that he was still bleeding meant he was still _alive._

Ed was on his knees in seconds, ripping off his coat and holding it desperately against the wound in the boy's stomach. The others scrambled to give him room as he tore off the sleeves impatiently to secure the wrap tighter. "Get a bedsheet!" he yelled to nobody in particular, tying the cloth as tight as he could. "Is there any way to get the nurse?"

Dean jumped to pull a sheet from the wreckage while Fred answered the question—"We can't Apparate in Hogwarts, and with the portrait hole blocked off…"

Ed swore, taking the crimson bedsheet from Dean and ripping it into thick strips, wrapping them around Ron's shoulder. He didn't know exactly how long he had been bleeding out, but the floor was slick with blood. If Pomfrey couldn't get here_ soon_—

"Dobby!" Harry said suddenly, his voice filled with sudden hope. "House-elves can—"

A loud _crack_ resonated throughout the room, causing Ed to turn sharply. Dobby—apparently one of the things like the much-loathed Kreacher back at Headquarters—was equally small, with floppy ears and green eyes that glowed eerily in the dim light. He took one look at the blood-soaked teenagers, gave a little squeak_,_ and disappeared with another _crack._

"Damnit, why didn't I think of that before…" Harry was still very pale, an angry, self-deprecating expression on his face. "Maybe we could have—"

"Pride would have killed him, or assimilated him so he could Apparate around as well," Ed cut him off quickly. This was no time for "could-have-beens;" it was a time for _action_ and _courage_ and all those other things Gryffindors were supposed to represent. "If he's run away and isn't getting the nurse—"

But yet another _crack_ tore through the air, a sleepy Madame Pomfrey holding tight to Dobby's hand. "_Merlin,_ Mister Elric, what are you doing here? You could be—"

"I'm saving Ron's life," Ed said curtly, moving aside enough to show her the boy's unmoving form. "I've gotta go kick Pride's ass back outside the grounds, so if you would—"

She was already moving, face white, wand in her hand as she pushed Fred and George out of the way. Dobby was still standing nearby, looking nothing short of terrified, and Ed turned to him quickly.

"Right—Dobby—I need you to take me down to the dungeons."

The house-elf turned its bulbous eyes to him, obviously on the verge of refusing. "There is being something very dark in the dungeons, Mister Elric, sir. Dobby is not wishing to go back there…"

"Yeah, I _know_ there's something dangerous. I have to go fight it off," he snarled. "You're the only one who can get me down there!"

He said nothing for a moment, green eyes flickering between Ed and Ron's prone form, before his face hardened. "If Sir is going to fight that which harmed Mister Harry Potter's friend, Dobby will help!" He took Ed's outstretched hand firmly in his own and twisted away in Apparition.

The two of them landed unsteadily near McGonagall, who was white-faced, shouting orders to other teachers nearby. "Dobby—get my brother, Al—he's in the Ravenclaw common room—"

The house-elf nodded and was gone. "McGonagall!" Ed yelled to the professor, who turned quickly but instantly relaxed when she saw him.

"Mister Jordan was able to clear Slytherin, and Filius has put up enough charms to prevent him from materializing any more than he already has, but Severus still hasn't pinned down his exact location—"

Ed swore, staring around at the dimly lit hallway. So _that_ was why he hadn't attacked anyone else since they had arrived—thank God. But he was still lurking, likely biding his time until he could figure out a back-up plan. Ed guessed they only had a few minutes before—

Dobby appeared next to him, a white-faced Al in tow, just as a silvery doe materialized before McGonagall. "He's on the same level as the Hufflepuff common room, directly below the kitchens. Get the Elrics down there—I'll be there shortly."

Ed narrowed his eyes in confusion; he had no idea where either of those places were. Before he could ask McGonagall, though, Dobby grabbed his hand, Apparating him and Al away.

They arrived in a shadowed hallway, presumably deeper in the dungeons. "Dobby shan't go any farther than this, sirs," he said, bowing low. "The monster yous is seeking should be farther down this hall."

"Thank you, Dobby," Al said, smiling despite his obvious terror and following Ed down the hall. Dobby's echoing cry of "Sirs are very welcome!" was lost almost immediately as they focused entirely on trying to find Pride's weakened container. Depending on how well Flitwick's charms worked, it could just be a matter of physically carrying him outside of the grounds...

A flicker of movement ahead and to the left caught his eye, and he held up his reinforced arm cautiously, motioning for Al to stay behind him. As they walked forward, slow and wary, Ed noticed that the hallway's light seemed to be growing brighter.

_He's nearby, then._ His gaze flickered all around, body tense and ready for action. But nothing attacked immediately; instead, that terrible, malevolent voice sounded from around the corner—

"I was wondering when you would arrive, Edward and Alphonse Elric…"

Ed cursed and turned to defend against an onslaught of shadows, but the Homunculus was simply standing there with a few shadows hovering, looking distinctly annoyed. "Too bad Homunculi are considered Dark creatures, huh?" Ed asked, smirking but not letting his guard down. "Otherwise, we'd all be in for one hell of a fight…"

"What are you even doing here?" Al said sharply, cutting straight to the point. "What do you want with Harry and Neville and Luna?"

"Five elements," Pride responded, a bit of his ever-present arrogance slipping onto his face. "Five students. Surely, even _you_ can figure it out."

_Shit!_ Ed's arm trembled dangerously before he could regain control over his emotions. They were so _stupid_—they had never found out why Pride had been in Hogwarts all those weeks ago. Eventually, the Order had just had to set it aside, leaving things to chance that it would not happen again.

_And innocents were hurt because of us. How could we have been so blind?_

"What do you need them for?" Al pressed, his voice turning hard. "This is between the three of us—you don't need to—"

Pride laughed, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You two really haven't discovered how incredible this _magic_ is? Every wizard is the equivalent of hundreds of Muggles to me—it's a nearly infinite power source! Why would I use you _Muggles_ when I can use five young, powerful wizards?"

Ed stiffened. "You—" Without even thinking, he charged, transmuting his arm into a deadly blade. Before either of them could properly attack, though, a familiar voice cut through the hallway—

"Pride, I thought we agreed that you would not harm any of our students."

Ed nearly spun in disbelief; Severus Snape was standing near Al, an unreadable expression on his face. "I thought you only wanted to go on a reconnaissance mission?"

"Ah, Mister Snape…" Pride retracted the shadows he had left, an evil smirk appearing on his face. "Things got a bit…out of control. But I was under the impression that there would be no opposition on your part."

The disdain was clear on Pride's face; after all, even if he was brilliant and an excellent liar, Snape was only human. "That was before you very nearly killed two of our students. If they do not survive—"

"Two? I seem to remember there being three…" Pride's grin grew wider. "I suppose you wouldn't have found the dark-haired girl I dropped off the tower…"

Ed felt his face drain of all color, his mind rushing through the implications of that statement. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were the two House towers—they had secured both of them—

_But we could never check on the Gryffindor girls._

He opened his mouth, ready to scream obscenities at Pride—_what kind of monster drops an innocent girl hundreds of feet to her death—_but Snape, again, cut him off, his voice infuriatingly calm.

"As Headmaster, I must insist you leave the grounds and never return. If you do not, I will make you."

Pride laughed aloud this time. "Just because you've put up enough barriers to keep me out of your precious _school_ doesn't mean I can't get them some other way."

"Leave with me right now, Homunculus, or you will regret it," Snape said, a hint of a threat in his voice this time. "Your powers have been reduced to nearly nothing here; I doubt greatly that you will win in a fight, even against us _mere mortals._"

Pride was silent, studying each of their faces for a moment. "Well, it's only a matter of time before the media finds out that Hogwarts was attacked. I suspect it won't be long before it's shut down altogether…"

Snape waved his wand, and Pride immediately crumpled to the ground, out cold. "Well, now we know that magic will work on him if we get past the shadows…" The sneering, arrogant edge to Snape's voice was suddenly gone; he looked utterly exhausted as he levitated Pride's prone form. Ed remembered with a start that it was quite late at night; with all the terror, the adrenaline…_no wonder everyone's exhausted._

"You two had better find out who he was going after," Snape said, already heading down the hallway.

"Professor Snape—wait!" Al said, stopping him momentarily and causing him to turn, one eyebrow raised. "Tell Professor McGonagall to get to the Gryffindor girls—we couldn't, with the charms on the staircase—"

Snape nodded and quickly disappeared down the dark corridor. Ed was ready to follow him until he heard a strange sniffling noise coming from where Pride had been. Ed approached the space cautiously, arm still transmuted and held up in front of him. Could it be a trap set by Pride? Was he really not as powerless here as he pretended? Was Snape in danger—?

But when he got close enough to see in the dim light, he saw that there was someone—a teenager—curled into a ball a ways away, shaking violently with suppressed sobs. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but what looked like pale hair and green clothes sparked something in Ed's memory. He stepped forward even further. "…Draco Malfoy?"

The boy's head snapped up wildly, staring around in unconcealed panic before his gaze landed on Ed…and the lethal blade attached to his arm.

"Get away!" he screeched, backpedaling rapidly as he tried to get to his feet. "If you kill me, I'll—"

"Woah, calm down," Ed said quickly, putting his hands in the air. Malfoy's gaze followed his right hand, eyes wide with terror, but Ed didn't understand the problem until Al laughed softly from next to him.

"Brother, your knife…"

"…Oh, right." Ed sheepishly transmuted his arm back to normal. The flashing blue light illuminated Malfoy's pale, tear-stained face for a moment before they were thrown again into the near-darkness. "Look, we're not going to hurt you, okay? We're just trying to figure out what's going on—"

"How do I know I can trust you?" the boy snapped back, not moving any closer. His voice still shook with nothing short of sheer terror. "You're a madman—back in August, you—"

"Oh, _hell._ Al, do you have your wand?" Ed was growing rather impatient; having this conversation when they could not see each others' faces would get them nowhere. "It's too damn dark—"

"But if you make light he'll come back! That's how it works!" Malfoy's voice was high and terrified; it was obvious that the boy was one step from a total breakdown. While Ed wasn't sure he could blame him (spending any amount of time with Pride would put _anyone_ on edge), he had to calm down, or else they'd be here forever. _And we have other things we have to do._

"Draco, Professor Snape is taking Pride outside of Hogwarts right now," Al said, his voice calm and reassuring. (Ed had always wondered how he did that.) "I'm just going to light my wand so we can talk properly, okay? He won't be able to hurt you."

Al's soothing words and a lack of any other options seemed to make Malfoy hesitate before agreeing. The hallway was soon lit well enough to see each other clearly, and Ed stepped toward Malfoy, looking him over for injuries. Other than the horrified, tear-streaked face and the fine layer of dust that seemed to cover him from head to toe, he seemed unharmed.

_He's one of the sacrifices, then._

"Do you know what's going on?" he asked after a few seconds. "That you're a—?"

"He said he wouldn't hurt us if we helped…" Malfoy said, his pale eyes staring, unseeing, at some point past them. "We just had to pick out five, and our families would be fine…"

Ed stiffened, his blood running cold. Pride had Slytherins—children of Death Eaters, most likely—picking out classmates to die by that monster's hand? And he was _threatening their families_ if they didn't?

Just like Greed had said—Pride always went for the last thing anyone wanted.

"So why are you one of them? You couldn't have volunteered yourself…?" Al prompted when he did not seem about to continue. Malfoy merely shook his head, looking lost.

"Must've been Theodore and Pansy—thought I matched the description best—those _bastards_—"

"Descriptions?" Ed pressed, but the boy seemed past the point of comprehension; he sagged against the nearest wall, burying his face in his badly-shaking hands. Ed thought he heard something about "losing it in front of the bloody _Muggles_," but before he could get angry about that, Al stepped forward, putting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Let's get upstairs, okay? All the professors are there, and I'm sure the nurse has something to help you calm down. Pride won't hurt you again…it'll be okay…"

He kept up a steady stream of senseless comfort as the three of them began to try and make their way upstairs. Around the time they reached the place Dobby had dropped them off, Ed realized that he had no idea where they were. He was just about to turn around and ask the near-hysterical Malfoy if he knew his way back when a short, plump woman came speeding down the hall, her face white.

"Oh, thank Merlin you two are all right!" Professor Sprout said, her face lighting up in relief. "When you didn't come back with Severus, we—Mister Malfoy?" She cut herself off, looking confused and worried as she stepped closer. "Are you—?"

"Pride had him," Ed said simply, stepping aside and watching the professor collect him from Al. He didn't recognize her as an official member of the Order, and he didn't know how much the rest of the professors were allowed to know, so he decided to keep it short. "He's kind of freaked out, so…"

"Of course," she said immediately, putting a comforting arm around the boy's shoulders before leading the way down the hall. "Everything has quieted down a bit—all those poor people who were hurt are in the Hospital Wing, and now that Severus is taking care of that monster…"

Ed nodded, half-listening as he tried to plan for what they had to do next. Harry, Neville, Luna, Draco Malfoy…who was the fifth sacrifice? One of the Gryffindor girls, surely—but there were _dozens_ of them—

Asking Malfoy was clearly out of the question; Sprout seemed to be half-supporting him as they made their way up a flight of stairs. He'd have to wait until he calmed down, or wait for McGonagall's report…

"Brother, do you think we could go up to the hospital too?" Al asked in an undertone, looking worried. "Ron and Padma are in there—I want to see if they'll…"

He trailed off, apparently unable to continue. Ed nodded quickly, though, glancing at the reconstruction efforts as they passed the Slytherin common room. Flitwick seemed to be putting the enchanted entrance back together, while several students were repairing the common room. If the chaos had died down enough to start that kind of work, Ed and Al surely had at least a little time for themselves.

_I need to know if they're all right._ Based on Al's worried expression, he was thinking the same thing.

Because it was all his fault if they weren't.

* * *

_Pain._

That was the first thing he was aware of when he awakened. It was dampened a bit from before (_when_ had he felt it before?), and the fact that he could feel at all meant he wasn't dead, but...

Why was he hurting in the first place? He couldn't even remember falling asleep…

The world was dark, but his eyelids were far too heavy to open at the moment. He decided to just lie still, get his bearings, remember _why_ he was in pain. He would deal with the rest of the world later.

He could hear things, vaguely, happening all around him, but it was as if he were underwater; he could not make out any of it. He felt a sort of pressure on his left hand (_left—why not right too—why is that so strange?_), so tight that he thought his fingers might go numb. He wasn't sure why someone was by his bed, but he just wrote it off as strange and rather creepy for the moment.

_Patronuses. _They had had a lesson that evening, and he had finally been able to maintain his charm long enough to send a message. But why did he feel like he had needed to use it again…?

Everything came back to him all at once, and he gasped loudly, his eyes flying open.

He scarcely had half a second to figure out where he was—_white everywhere, must be the Hospital Wing_—before someone shrieked and engulfed him in an enormous hug. "Oh Ron…thank God…we didn't know if you would…"

It took a moment for his still-hazy mind to register the curly-haired head sobbing into his chest as Hermione's. "M'fine," he said automatically, his words slurring as he reached up to pat her head awkwardly. "It'll take more'n that monster t'kill me, you know that…"

Her sobs did not decrease in volume; she only gripped his middle more tightly. He didn't quite know what to do; he still felt rather detached from everything…but he knew he had to make Hermione feel better. He was _fine_, or he would be soon enough; he hadn't died in the fight, and he was awake now, right? The true, crippling pain of Pride's attack was a distant memory, and while he knew he would have to deal with that later…_Hermione came first._

Still petting his friend's head calmingly and trying to think of something to say, he was startled by several more yells from around the room. He thought he heard someone say "get Harry and Neville," but he couldn't be sure when everyone but Hermione seemed so far away. Yet he latched onto that command, hope blossoming in his chest. _They're not hurt—they're somewhere in the castle—Pride didn't get them—_

Within seconds, his bed was surrounded by more than a dozen people. Their bloodshot eyes were filling with tears, but they wore immensely relieved smiles, as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from their shoulders.

"Uh…hey," he said after a moment, staring at them all over Hermione's head. It was rather overwhelming, to be surrounded by so many people so soon after waking, but they all looked so relieved, so _overjoyed_ that he was awake…he didn't have the heart to ask them to move.

Madame Pomfrey seemed to have other ideas, though. "Let me through!" she barked, looking thoroughly disheveled as she pushed by Dean and Fred. "Can you tell me what hurts?" she asked Ron, a much softer look appearing in her eyes. _Worry?_ Ron's muddled brain couldn't quite tell. He gently pried Hermione from his chest before the nurse could demand she move, but she only switched her tight grip to his hand. He doubted she'd let go anytime soon.

"Uh…everything," he responded after a moment of thought. He remembered being thrown into a wall; that would explain his chest and head. He didn't even want to look at where his arm should have been, lest he lose his composure entirely. His stomach…he seemed to remember Pride trying to cut him in half, but when he looked down, swallowing bile, he saw that he was still assuredly in one piece. Only thick bandages encircling his entire abdomen betrayed the gaping wound.

"Well, that's to be expected. I'm surprised you woke up so soon, actually—it's barely eight o'clock…"

He sincerely hoped she meant eight in the morning on the same day as the attack…but that train of thought was aborted as Madame Pomfrey raised her wand. "Wait, what happened? Is Pride gone? Is everyone—?"

"Half the school was able to fight him back," George said, looking positively murderous. "You and Padma Patil are the only ones in here. She nearly got her head smashed in, though—we don't think she'll wake for a while."

Ron thought there was something…_off_ about his brother's tone, but he had neither the time nor the energy to think about it. Madame Pomfrey was talking again—"Whatever that monster is made of, it's slowing the healing process. Your head and ribs are healed, but they'll be sore…your stomach and arm, though…"

"You…_can_ heal them, can't you?" Seamus looked very nervous, his freckles standing out against his pale face. "I mean, you can regrow limbs, right? So—"

"As long as they haven't been cursed off with Dark magic," she replied, shaking her head. "And since we don't know exactly—"

_"Ron? Ron!"_

Harry's loud voice, full of relief, sounded from the direction of the door. Ron tilted his head, watching Harry, Neville, and several others run into the infirmary. "Don't you _ever_ do that again—we were so worried—"

Despite the harsh words, Ron could tell Harry wasn't angry. He could see nothing but desperate relief flooding his best friend's face as he sat on the bed next to Hermione, putting an arm around her still-heaving shoulders and grasping Ron's hand with the other.

"As long as you promise not to get kidnapped again," he shot back, a relaxed smile trying to form on his face. It wasn't coming easily; that perfection they had achieved the evening before seemed so far out of their grasp. But Harry and Neville—and everyone else, apparently—were all right, and he and Padma _would_ be, so…

Maybe, if they worked at it enough, they could go back to the way things used to be. Carefree, innocent, _happy._

"We'll be doing our best to keep them away from Pride," someone said from behind Dean. The dark-skinned boy was too tall; Ron couldn't see the speaker. The voice, slightly accented, sounded vaguely familiar, but it took him a moment to place it.

"_Ed?_" he asked incredulously. Weren't he and Al wanted by the entire country? What on Earth were they doing—?

"Good to see you're awake," Ed grinned, looking genuinely happy as he stepped around Dean to face Ron. "I have to say, I'm impressed, doing all that when you were missing an arm…"

"You've been in the same situation, though, haven't you?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is that how you lost yours? Did Pride—?"

Ed shook his head, a strange expression crossing his face. "It was an accident years ago...but that's beside the point. You'll be fine, now that you're out of danger for the most part, and _hopefully_ magic can grow it back—it'll depend, but if you're lucky…"

Ron nodded, smiling a bit at the boy. He had no doubt that he and Al were integral to the defense of the school; despite his early reservations toward the boy, he had no reason to feel anything but great respect and admiration toward him and his brother.

Speaking of which... "Where's Al?" Ron was sure he had been at Hogwarts to fight as well; the two of them did _everything_ together, and fighting Pride was surely no exception.

Ed seemed to falter for a second, so Harry filled in for him, glancing to a point in the room Ron couldn't see. "He's…he's talking with Ginny."

Something was definitely off about his friend's tone; the panic he had tried so hard to quell rose again in full force. "What's wrong? Is she okay? _Did Pride hurt her?_" Missing limbs be damned—if that _monster_ laid a hand on his little sister, he'd—

"She's…she's fine, physically," Harry continued hesitantly. "It's just…Pride attacked their dorm, tried to kidnap her, and her roommate Romilda fought back."

_But I thought Padma and I were the only ones in here…?_ He could feel the uneasy gazes of the people surrounding him; it was as if they were waiting for him to figure it out himself. Why—

But the pained expressions and his sister's heaving sobs from across the room answered him. "He—he _killed_ her?" His voice was hoarse and terrified, but nobody contradicted him. That could have been him, it could have been him _so easily_—or Padma or Dean or Seamus or—

"Pro-professor Flitwick put up charms," Hermione said quietly, speaking for the first time since he had awoken. She had straightened up, but she still had a firm grip on his remaining hand. "But that wasn't until after they realized…it w-was—it was too late, he a-already…"

She seemed unable to continue, but there was no need; a cold, icy pit of horror was settling in Ron's stomach and seemed unlikely to move. As he looked around at the haggard, exhausted group surrounding his bed, he suddenly realized how incredibly lucky they were to be there at all.

"Al—Al's good with this kind of thing," Ed said, breaking the momentary silence. He seemed to have aged decades since Ron's horrible revelation; his eyes held wisdom and grief beyond his sixteen years as he seemed unable to meet Ron's gaze. "He'll…"

"R-ron?"

The group parted immediately to show Al leading a near-hysterical Ginny forward. Luna followed behind, looking very grounded and very worried. Ron's eyes locked with his sister's red, puffy ones, and she stumbled out of Al's grip, making her way unsteadily to his side. "Ron…thank God…"

She collapsed on the edge of his bed opposite Harry and Hermione, sobbing harder as she pulled him into a hug. "I don't—it's my fault—I'm so glad you're alive—"

"It's absolutely not your fault," he said immediately. In all his life, he didn't think he had ever seen Ginny so lost and hysterical as she was now. "It's that bastard, Pride…don't worry, we'll kick his arse into oblivion…"

She only hugged him tighter, continuing to sob. Ron had never wished so strongly in the past several hours that he had two arms; with Harry and Hermione holding tightly to his left hand, he could do nothing as his bandaged chest was soaked with his little sister's tears.

Harry seemed to understand, though, for he lifted his hand and gently pried Hermione's off. Ron sent his friend a grateful glance and began petting his sister's hair calmingly.

Ginny was not one to cry; even when she had been kidnapped to the Chamber of Secrets nearly three years before, she had managed to contain her tears until she was alone with their parents. He supposed Pride had that unsettling aura everywhere he went; that, being nearly kidnapped (he still didn't know why…) and watching a friend die…

He thought he'd be hysterical, too.

The world, to Ron, was only his sister for the moment; everyone else around him, even Harry and Hermione, faded into the background. Slowly, Ginny's sobs began subsiding, though she still hiccuped from time to time and did not release her grip on his middle. If it weren't for the constant pain still wracking his body, he would almost call the scene…_calm._

"Mister Weasley, it is wonderful to see you awake…"

Ron's head snapped up at the unexpected voice; Dumbledore, looking old and worn, was standing next to Madame Pomfrey at the foot of his bed. Most of the crowd around his bed had dispersed now; only his closest friends, his brothers, and the Elrics remained.

"It's good to see you back at Hogwarts," he said in reply, trying to smile a bit. His ribs and the gash in his stomach were screaming from the weight of Ginny's body, but he wasn't about to ask her to move. It wasn't unbearable; her happiness was more important; he could deal with a little pain if it made his sister feel better.

"Well, now that Dolores has broken her side of the Vow, I am free to return," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes darkening for a moment. "Unfortunately, by the time her death was verified and I was able to arrive, it was far too late for me to be of any help. If it were not for Filius, Severus, Edward, and Alphonse, I doubt any of us would be here right now."

He nodded in the Elrics' direction; Ed only nodded as well, while Al offered a small smile. "Now that we believe we know what Pride wants…"

"Do we have to discuss this now, Albus?" Madame Pomfrey broke in. Ron jumped; he had nearly forgotten she was there. "Mister Weasley has a long recovery ahead of him, if we can regrow his arm at all—" Ron felt Ginny's grip on him tighten, and he barely kept from wincing—"and I would still like to make sure that _monster_ didn't harm those five…"

"You would know if he did," Ed said suddenly. "If they're fine physically…he needs them _alive._ He wouldn't have poisoned them or anything."

"Still…" The nurse looked distinctly worried as she glanced at the victims surrounding her. "I don't know exactly what those _shadows_ are composed of…"

"Make sure Ron and Padma are all right before you worry about us," Harry cut in, glancing across Ron to a nearby bed. There was a crowd of students, mostly Ravenclaws, around it; Ron could only assume it was Padma, still out cold. "If her head really is…"

"We'll be keeping a close eye on the five of them while they are on break," Dumbledore said quietly to Madame Pomfrey. "I doubt they are at all injured. Pride is much more adept at psychological warfare."

Ron thought nervously of Romilda, Padma, himself, and the havoc that monster had wreaked, and hoped Pride never got inside _his_ head.

"Wait—you said five?" he said suddenly, frowning in confusion at the sudden revelation. "Harry and Neville and—and Ginny—who else—?"

"He's trying to collect sacrifices," Al said slowly, apparently analyzing Ron's face to gauge his reaction before continuing. "This particular transmutation circle has five points, and he's basing his choices off the five elements. He also tried to kidnap Luna and Draco Malfoy."

"_Malfoy?_" Of all the people to kill to make his master plan work—Ron thought Malfoy would be one of those who _helped_ him…

He saw the blond boy up against the far wall, looking very disheveled and very lost. He had never seen Malfoy look quite so _human_ before; he always wore a scowl, was always ready with some snide comment…but that was all gone now. He looked so terribly out of place, watching Ron's and Padma's beds with badly concealed, horrified guilt, that Ron realized he felt _sorry_ for the boy he used to hate so much.

He was sure this idea of ignoring house boundaries to help another person, another _innocent, helpless human,_ was a wonderful step forward for the wizarding world. He just wasn't so sure that the circumstances that brought it about were worth the risk.

Realizing he never responded to Al's explanation, Ron nodded quickly, looking around at those surrounding him. "So how are we going to keep them all safe from Pride?"

"He should not be able to get back into Hogwarts—at least to do any sort of damage," Dumbledore said, "but as a precaution, they have all agreed to spend Christmas break at Headquarters."

"Is that…is that safe?" He wasn't exactly complaining; the existence of the resistance group was surely no surprise to anyone with half a brain. But with Sirius there…Neville and Luna and Malfoy had no idea…

"If you have any better ideas, we'd love to hear them," Harry said, trying to grin a bit. "It'll just be like a big Christmas party—your mum'll make dinner, and…"

Ron smiled a bit as well, ready to let himself be momentarily swallowed by that cheerful train of thought. He wanted to forget his grievous wounds and the severity of the situation, if only for a few moments… Before that could happen, though, he was rudely interrupted by the appearance of a silvery lynx in front of Dumbledore. He didn't recognize the Patronus immediately, but the voice that issued from the animal's mouth was undoubtedly Kingsley's.

So caught up in discovering the sender, he did not immediately realize what the message said.

"Arthur was attacked last night by some sort of snake…we only found him this morning…send the children to Headquarters as soon as possible. Molly will meet them there."

A horrible, deafening silence was all that followed.

* * *

Grimmauld Place had never been so quiet.

All of the Weasleys were there—including several older brothers Ed had never met before—along with many members of the Order. Despite this, there was a sort of dampening pressure on them all, almost a threat. _Don't break the silence._

Ginny was inconsolable. Losing her father—the man she had always looked up to—so soon after watching her friend die and nearly being kidnapped…she holed herself up in her bedroom and refused to come out.

Ed had not felt so helpless since Nina was killed. (It was such a long time ago—more than a year—but it was burned into his mind, just like the day his mother died and the night of their transmutation and the Promised Day…and today.)

He had always been better at the physical aspect of things. Problems that he could _see_, could _fight,_ could _destroy_ were always so much more straightforward. But with grief like this…there was nothing he could do, nothing he could attack to make this better.

He hated the silence, but he knew better than to break it.

.

.

Madame Pomfrey had not allowed Ron to leave the Hospital Wing—he was still losing far too much blood, and with open wounds and fragile bones like his, any mode of transportation was out of the question. So Harry and Hermione had stayed with him—a horrible expression of guilt on the former's face—while the rest of the Weasleys, the other sacrifices, and the Elrics took Dumbledore's Portkey to Headquarters.

Molly was there, her eyes hugely red and tear stains running down her cheeks. Ginny was the first to reach her, hysterical sobs wracking her body as she embraced her mother tightly. Ed, Al, and the others could only stand quietly as Fred and George followed close behind their sister, the whole family lost to their grief.

"Where—where's Ron?" she asked after several long moments. Her three children hesitated before turning as one to Ed and Al, accusatory looks on their faces. Only then did he realize that Molly had very little idea of what had happened; as soon as Ed and Al had arrived, Hogwarts had gone into lockdown. He wasn't sure that the rest of the Order even knew there had been an attack at all.

Ed did not have the words to tell her what happened (_useless,_ why can't you be more like your brother), but Al answered after several seconds, looking anywhere but the Weasleys' tortured gazes. "Pride—he got into the school—we couldn't get to him immediately, not until Fred and George got their darkness powder out—"

She stumbled back a step, her blotchy face losing all color as she stared with wide, terrified eyes at them all. "He's—Ron too—?"

"No!" Neville said quickly, surprising them all. "He—he got roughed up a bit, but he saved all our lives. He's in the Hospital Wing. He'll be fine, Mrs. Weasley, don't worry."

He, Luna, and Draco all looked horribly uncomfortable in the kitchen, staring around at the old furniture and taking in the musty atmosphere. None of them asked, far too respectful of the situation, but Ed knew they were all wondering the same thing—_this is the headquarters of the strongest resistance group in the country?_

"We're really sorry we couldn't tell you earlier," Al said, and Ed saw his guilty eyes meet Molly's horrified ones briefly before they flickered away again. "We had to make sure the castle was secure—so he couldn't get back in—"

"Of…of course…" she said faintly, though she did not relax at all, and she still looked on the verge of passing out. "He—what did Pride do—?"

Nobody said anything for several seconds. Her gaze flickered between them all, her eyes widening in horror as the silence stretched between them. Ginny's grip on her mother was only tightening; Fred and George seemed to be trying their hardest not to cry, to be a pillar of strength for their sister in this vast world of grief. None of them could possibly answer.

Ed swallowed thickly. _This is all my fault._ If anyone needed to answer that impossible question, it was him. If he hadn't been so _stupid,_ none of them would be in this situation. They'd all be going home to celebrate this strange holiday—Ron and Padma and Romilda would be fine—_Mister Weasley would be alive_—

"He—you know how he wants to make a Philosopher's Stone of the country?" he finally said, causing Molly's gaze to snap to him. She nodded slowly, fear trembling in her eyes. "Well—to offset the price of the transmutation—he had five sacrifices picked out from the school. Harry and Neville were two of them, and—well—Ron fought back."

Her eyes flickered to Neville, Luna, and Draco, and something akin to understanding flashed amidst the horror and grief. "If he hadn't sent McGonagall that Patronus, none of us would be here right now," Neville said, apparently trying to smile. "Even when his—"

He cut himself off quickly, obviously realizing that telling Molly her son's exact condition would be a bad idea, but she would not let it drop. She turned that _look_ upon them all—the one Ed had received so many times as a child, the one that always worked, no matter how much he tried to stay strong.

It reminded him so much of his own mother…it was painful.

"He—he broke a few bones, but Madame Pomfrey was able to heal them quick enough," he said, finally cracking. His voice broke traitorously, though, and Molly caught it, her eyes widening in anxiety.

"And…?"

"And—nothing!" Ed did not want to imagine—let alone witness—her reaction to the news that her son may have lost his arm for good. If he put it off, she would be upset with him, but he wasn't sure she could handle the news right now. _There's only so much grief a mother can take._

"…You're lying," she said, her voice cracking as well, her eyes boring into his. _Mother, can't lie, love and peace and happiness and—_"Edward, please, just tell me the truth…"

He couldn't take it anymore. Those eyes—so unlike his own mother's, yet just the same—he just—he couldn't—

"Pride…Pride got his arm…we don't know if Pomfrey will be able to grow it back."

His voice was scarcely a whisper, but she heard every word. There was utter silence for several seconds as she seemed to absorb this; then, she choked out a barely audible sob, collapsing into Ginny in a dead faint.

"Mum? _Mum!_" Fred and George were holding her up in an instant, nearly hysterical as they tried to bring her back to awareness. The rest of them could only stand and watch—Ed was vividly reminded of a similar situation ten years ago…

They could only hope this ended better for the Weasleys than it had for them.

But they knew, despite their fervent hopes, that this would never be all right.

.

.

Fred, George, and Ginny had taken their mother upstairs carefully, intent on laying her down in her room and sitting with her. This left the Elrics and the three sacrifices standing in horrible, utter silence in the kitchen. Draco had worn an expression of all-consuming guilt ever since he had learned what happened to Ron, Padma, and Romilda; Ed was sure this tragedy would only multiply his shame.

Neville glanced at the boy as well, apparently casting around for a change of topic to try and take Malfoy's mind off of it. "So…where…where exactly are we?"

"It's the Order's headquarters," Al said immediately, latching onto the break from the horrible silence. "It's an old house—we're not allowed to know where, exactly, but it's big enough to hold everyone, so…"

"We'll have to figure out where you'll all sleep," Ed said slowly. "Luna, I think there's probably room with Hermione and—and Ginny…Neville, with Harry and Ron…" He trailed off as he turned his gaze to Draco. He wasn't sure how many spare bedrooms there were, especially if more people than normal would be staying over Christmas. The house was large, but…

"You could stay with us," Al said kindly. "If there's an extra bedroom, you could sleep there if you want, but I'm not sure there'll be any…"

Draco and Neville looked vaguely surprised at this offer. Ed supposed he understood their sentiment—he was a _Slytherin,_ the _enemy,_ someone not to be trusted. But this was a whole different world from the simple game of "red versus green" they'd been playing for years; Draco Malfoy was as human as any of them, and in this war, that was what really mattered.

The boy was nodding, though he looked a little reluctant. "We don't bite, I promise," Al said, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Brother's really just a big softie…"

Ed opened his mouth, an indignant rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, when a loud _crack_ echoed through the kitchen. The five of them spun to see Sirius brushing dirt from his robes, a very somber expression on his face. Only when Neville and Draco gasped loudly did he look up, alarmed; then, his eyes relaxed into something that was almost—_almost_—amusement.

"Uh…hi," he said, breaking the momentary silence. "Should've figured you guys would be here already…"

"But—you're Sirius Black!" Draco said loudly. His face was as pale as his hair; apparently, this was one too many shocks to his system for one day. "You're—"

"Not a Death Eater, as I'm sure your family knows." Had it been any other situation, Ed was sure the man would be leering…but his godson had nearly died, along with the rest of the school, and he had just lost a good friend. "Long story short, I was framed, all right? We don't have time for this right now. Ed, Al, you'd better show them upstairs—there's going to be a meeting as soon as everything at Hogwarts calms down…"

The pain in his voice and on his face was obvious; Ed knew that this day, so far, was more than any sane man could take. And it wasn't even halfway over.

_Homunculi really are Hell incarnate, aren't they?_ Everywhere they went…destruction and despair were sure to follow.

.

.

This strange holiday was not celebrated in Amestris, but Ed was fairly certain that it wasn't supposed to be like this.

Headquarters looked especially dim and dreary compared to the rest of the street; up and down the road, people had hung strings of lights along their roofs, along windows and doorways and sidewalks. Barely, through filthy windows and from yards away, he could make out what looked like decorated pine trees in living rooms.

Sirius had been so excited about Christmas before that last day of term. He had explained (after expressing his shock and outrage—"What kind of alternate universe doesn't have _Christmas?_") that it involved gift-giving, cheerfulness, someone called Father Christmas…

And, best of all, the Hogwarts students had a month-long break from school.

But instead of the joy Ed had come to associate with this holiday, there was only a sense of _nothingness_ permeating the house. More than once, someone had set an extra plate before realizing there was no one to use it. Every time, Molly would choke back a sob, trying to stay strong for her children. But no one was fooling anybody; Arthur's conspicuous absence weighed on all of them like the world rested on their shoulders.

(In a way, he supposed, it did.)

Ed realized suddenly, one day at dinner, that he had promised Arthur he could inspect his automail to his heart's content as a Christmas present. The man had been overjoyed—so much so that Ed wished Winry could have been there to see. As an extra treat, he had even tried to come up with a rudimentary blueprint for him.

But the parchment would never be touched again, rolled up and placed reverently in a corner of their room. Every time Ed walked in, his eyes were drawn to it, and he had to choke back a sob.

Arthur Weasley was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

.

.

The Weasleys were, of course, hit hardest by their patriarch's death. Ginny only left her room to use the bathroom, and only occasionally allowed others inside. Hermione and Luna had taken to sleeping in the living room without complaints; if she needed her space, they would not deprive her of it.

The six other Weasley children all walked around the house in a perpetual daze; Ed recognized it as the one he had adopted for weeks after his mother's death. It wasn't pretty; it would make it all the more painful when they finally woke up. But it was a defense mechanism, the only one they had, and they didn't want to—_couldn't_—deal with the agony of their father's death.

Harry and Hermione, though not related by blood, were affected nearly as much. When they had arrived at Headquarters two days after the rest with a still-weak, armless Ron, all three had been engulfed in a huge, hysterical embrace by Molly. Ron had explained—between deep, calming breaths and reassuring looks from his friends—that the basic limb regrowth spells had been unsuccessful. Madame Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick were going to look into it, though, and try to find another method.

The Weasleys had headed upstairs to lay Ron down—he was still far too weak and shouldn't have been traveling, but he had insisted on it—leaving Sirius, Harry, Hermione, Ed and Al in the kitchen. Harry's composure crumbled almost instantly; he sought solace from Sirius, embracing him tightly.

"This...it's all my fault..."

Sirius soothed him as best he could, gently sitting him down in a chair and asking what he meant. "I—I saw it—in a dream that night—I saw Mister Weasley get attacked. But before I could get anyone Pride was—he was—"

The boy, consumed by grief and guilt, was unable to continue, but there was no need. Hermione stepped forward, putting a shaking hand on his shoulder, trying to be of some comfort to at least one of her friends…

(Even as her own life was falling apart before her eyes.)

(Her parents were Muggles, gone from the country and under some sort of memory charm. She had insisted Dumbledore do it for their protection, but in times like these, all anyone wanted was to hold their families close. She was the most alone of all of them.)

"That doesn't make you guilty of anything," Sirius told Harry immediately, tilting the boy's head to look him in the eye. Ed could see the terror shining behind the forced calm, though; he was having prophetic dreams? Visions? Glimpses into Voldemort's mind? Hopefully, Dumbledore would have the answer… "It's Pride and Voldemort, do you understand me? Nothing in the _world _could have allowed you to stop Pride quickly enough to do anything about it. Don't ever, _ever_ blame yourself."

"But—I _was_ the snake! When I saw it! I saw it like I was the one attacking him! The one that—that k—"

Sirius' eyes were shining in pain, even as he continued to offer comfort, being the father figure the boy never had. "We'll talk about it with Dumbledore. I'm sure he'll have some sort of idea…"

Harry's sobs only grew louder, gripping the front of Sirius' robes tightly as the man pulled him into a tight hug. Hermione had tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched, helpless to offer comfort as her friend fell apart before her. The five of them were in the kitchen, together but alone…

Nothing would ever be the same again.

* * *

In the end, it wasn't the threat of their own deaths that changed everything. It wasn't the psychological warfare Pride was waging on the entire country. It wasn't even the sheer _power_ wielded by the monster they didn't know how to fight.

The death of one man—insignificant to much of the world but _everything_ to the rest—set everything in motion. Everything was suddenly _real_ for all of them, even those who had been immersed from the beginning.

Pride had caused this pain, this grief, these shattered lives. As winter break passed in a distorted, disjointed mess of anguish, one idea held them all together.

_Pride. Must. Pay._


	20. So Shrill the Cry

**XX**  
**So Shrill the Cry**

_You must not fail._

_I thought we were in this together. _A sneer, an arrogant façade...a threat.

_I am the mastermind, am I not? If this has failed in nearly every way, we must find a better way to do it._

_Of course. I already have something in mind…_

* * *

_**How can they possibly win when they've already lost so much?**_

* * *

"_No,_ Mum, we're not going back to school. We can't just leave you here! We're nearly eighteen—there's no point to staying at Hogwarts—"

Molly Weasley stood her ground against Fred and George, though, her blotchy face streaked with tears. "I will be _fine._ You boys can't just _drop out of school,_ especially with the state of—"

"That's why we have to stay here! With you and Sirius! It's exactly what Ed and Al did, isn't it? And they're _younger_ than us—"

Ed winced as all three furious faces turned in his direction. The rage was misplaced, not really anger at all, but it was the most emotion any of them had shown in the last month. "She's your mum," he said quietly once he realized they were waiting for some sort of reply. He threw his gaze to the ground before he continued, "She knows what's best for you."

The flabbergasted expressions on Fred's and George's faces were quickly replaced by rage. "You have no idea what we're going through! Dad is _dead!_ He's—Mum's—"

Fred could not continue, but Ed heard the message loud and clear. He wasn't wanted in this room, at this time…possibly not even in their lives at all. He'd never know…maybe they blamed him for bringing Pride into their lives. Maybe they blamed him for Ron and Romilda and Padma and their father. If only he had been faster…

If they just accused him of it outright…everything would be so much easier that way.

"I can't help you with this. Any of you," he said to all three of them, briefly making eye contact before turning for the stairs. "I hope you figure it out."

The shouting continued as he climbed to the second floor, though Ed thought the tone had shifted slightly. Desperation and begging replaced fury and demands, and he caught part of George's near-hysterical sentence before he slammed the door shut—

"You're our _mum_! You're our mum, and we won't _ever_ leave you by yourself, even if—"

A slammed door, a strangled sob. Edward collapsed onto his bed, ignoring Al's worried questions. Molly looked the same as—no, worse than—their own mother had after Hohenheim left. He understood her sentiments; Fred and George—and half the Order—were too young, too inexperienced, to be dealing with the darkness they knew was coming.

But he'd be damned if he let another beloved mother die of grief as her children looked on, helpless to save the last pillar of strength they had left.

* * *

"Do you—do you think I could stay here? Instead of going back to Hogwarts?"

Draco's quiet voice cut the both of them out of their thoughts later that evening. Ed raised an eyebrow, lifting his head from his pillow. The way the boy had been avoiding everyone in the house, he thought he couldn't wait to return to school…

"Hogwarts is safer than Headquarters now," Al said, breaking the momentary silence. "There's no way for Pride to materialize. You won't be in any danger."

"That's not it…" he said, not quite meeting their eyes. Ed had seen very little of Draco back in September, but he had gotten the distinct impression that he was arrogant, rude, and an all-around bastard. Now, though…all of that was stripped away. The Draco Malfoy left before them was alone, scared, and lost, desperate for some sort of constant in this tumultuous world.

"I can't—I can't face them all," he barely whispered, finishing what he could not say before. "The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws…and Nott and Pansy…"

Though Ed doubted there would be much room for misplaced blame among the panicked, grieving students (Snape had explained the situation the morning after it happened), he supposed he could see the boy's point. To know you were one of those who endangered the life of every person in the school…

"Talk with Dumbledore or Sirius. I'm sure they can work something out," Al offered, shrugging. "We're not in charge around here, so…"

"But you're the ones who can beat him, right?" His voice was suddenly loud, a note of hysteria seeping through. "Doesn't that make you in charge? They'll never—_they'll let me die—_"

"Dumbledore would never leave you behind. We're all fighting for the same thing here—we have to work together. And we can only _guess_ at what Pride's planning…" A shiver unconsciously ran down Ed's spine. "We've already been proven wrong…we're not gods, all right?"

"But—" Draco's gaze was tormented, begging for some sort of support, some sort of relief. "But—he _can't_ win—everyone will die—"

"We know that." A twinge of impatience, covering up the desperation he'd felt in his heart since he first saw Pride in Diagon Alley. "We're going to do our best, okay? Talk to Dumbledore about staying at Headquarters; he'll make the final decision."

He hesitated before finally nodding, preparing to leave the room again. "You—you _are_ going to beat him, right?" His voice was barely a whisper, hushed by terror and grief. Ed was ready with a realistic reply—they couldn't make any promises when they were up against an omnipotent, immortal _monster_—but the look on Draco's face portrayed what Ed had to say. He needed to hear that it would turn out all right, that they would pull through this like the heroes in all the stories, that he would be able to return home to his mother and father when it was all over.

So he forced a cocky grin onto his face that he didn't really mean, and gave him the answer he needed to hear. "'Course we will."

* * *

It was six days before the students were to leave for Hogwarts, after nearly a month of constant visits from Madame Pomfrey, when Ron finally cracked. He appeared in Ed and Al's doorway, one sleeve hanging limply at his side, and asked in a hoarse, haunted voice if Ed could teach him to write with his left hand.

That final visit from the nurse had ended with tears from Molly, Ginny, and Hermione, while the men tried their damnedest to stay strong. The dark magic infused in Pride—the same that had allowed him to be blocked out of Hogwarts—was keeping Ron's arm from growing back. There was nothing anyone could do for him.

Ed immediately agreed, pulling up an extra chair to the desk and retrieving parchment and quill from the drawer. Ron sat down unsteadily while Al wavered a moment, obviously unsure of what to do. Eventually, as the sobs from downstairs echoed to their room, he left, intent on offering what comfort he could.

Ed and Ron sat silently for several minutes, making no sounds but the scratching of quill on parchment and the occasional muttered curse. Ron was clearly unused to doing anything at all with his left hand; he snapped several quills with the wrong grip, and his hand shook so badly that the ink could not arrive on the parchment at all.

"I have some Muggle pens, if you want to try those," Ed offered as yet another quill snapped in two. "They're easier to write with, and—"

"_No!_" The outburst was unexpected and loud; Ed met Ron's tortured gaze with difficulty as the boy continued—"Damnit, I have to get this—Mum can't know— it's—"

His eyes were filling with tears, and he swiped at them furiously, turning away. Ed wanted to say something—_anything_—to comfort the boy…but he had never been good at that, had never had the right words to say, and he feared that anything he tried would only make him feel worse.

But he was saved the trouble when Ron picked up yet another quill with vengeance, even as tears blotted the ruined parchment. "I _have_ to—it can't be that hard—"

It took three more snapped quills before he was able to consistently get ink onto the page, and even then, his writing was blocky, shaky, and painstakingly slow. Just as Ron looked about ready to crumple the parchment in rage and despair, Ed took the quill from his hand, sliding the parchment away. "You don't have to get it all at once. It took me _weeks_ of nothing but practice to get it the same as my right hand."

"I don't _have_ weeks!" Ron's eyes were definitely glassy now, and he furiously blinked back tears while he continued—"I have to take notes in class, and write homework, and Harry and Hermione would do it for me, but I can't make them work because of my own bloody _failure_—"

"In what way did you fail?" Ed asked incredulously. Ron's endeavors had been the most successful of nearly anything he had heard of; if it weren't for him, surely, the entire country would be absorbed into Pride's Philosopher's Stone…doomed to a fate worse than death.

"I should have been able to send that Patronus faster—maybe Romilda and Padma and—and Dad—"

"Listen to me." Ed was terrible at comfort, but when he saw someone else in the same pit of despair he himself had often inhabited, he couldn't just stay silent. Ron's blue eyes, unashamedly spilling tears down his cheeks now, locked with his as he continued, "_You did not fail._ If it weren't for you—if you had been any normal person and given up when you lost your arm—_none of us would be here now._ McGonagall got your message and raised the alarm. If you had passed out or just—done nothing—nobody would have found out until it was too late. What you did—that's more than I've ever done, more than anyone I know has ever done."

Ed was rather proud of that small speech, though Ron's tormented gaze did not relax in the slightest. "Yeah, right! You're missing _two _limbs! This is nothing compared to you—and you were younger then—"

"Do you want to know how I lost these?" Ed's voice was rising, matching Ron's hysterical pitch as he gestured toward his exposed automail. "It was an accident. _Everything was my fault._ I lost a leg, but Al—Al was _gone._ I lost my arm saving him, but I screwed that up too. That—" he gestured toward Ron's limp shirt sleeve—"is something to be proud of. These—these are just constant reminders of _how much of a fuck-up I am._"

Ron was silent for a moment, though Ed could not properly read the emotions that crossed his tortured face. "I'm a bloody _cripple,_" he croaked finally, looking away. "Mum and Ginny—they're upset enough with—with Dad and Romilda—but this just makes it worse…everything is just falling apart and…and…"

It sounded desperate, rushed, as if he had wanted to say this but feared he would lose his nerve. Ed hesitated—he was treading on _very_ thin ice, he knew—before saying, "That's why me and Al and the Order have to beat Pride, right? But you don't need to worry about…just go to school…"

He trailed off in his half-hearted sermon when it was apparent Ron was not listening. It appeared to take all his control not to burst into hysterical sobs, though several tears were leaking from his eyes.

"It's okay to cry," Ed said quietly, putting his left hand—his _human_ hand—on the boy's shoulder. _(I've heard that so many times—why can't I follow my own advice?_) "It's okay…don't worry about Pride, we'll take care of him…"

Ron dissolved into Ed's awkward embrace, finally letting the sobs surface. Ed let him cry, wondering how he had become such a pillar of support for these people he barely knew.

Ron—and all the other teenagers—didn't need to be drawn into such a horrendous war. Everyone in the country knew that…and yet…

He didn't quite know what he was doing; his usual way of offering comfort would be to knock sense into him, remind him forcefully of his purpose, help him as best he could. But these people—_they're only children_—only wanted stability, only wanted love and support from anyone who could give it. The grief and misery were tearing them apart.

And Ed wasn't sure there was any way to stop it.

* * *

It was the night before the students were to return to Hogwarts, but Ed and Al weren't planning on getting any sleep.

Their exhaustive research in the library—going through Sirius' books as well as Flamel's other notes—was a desperate search for anything that may have been able to defeat Pride. They had absolutely no leads to go on; there was no magic powerful enough to obliterate thousands of souls from existence.

"Mister Marcoh was able to…" Al trailed off in thought sometime after five in the morning. "That's how he stopped Envy up north—he knew so much about Stones that he was able to nearly destroy it."

"But we know next to nothing," Ed said, very nearly slamming his forehead into the desk. "Marcoh did _decades_ of research—we'd never be able to duplicate that…"

Al slumped down again, flipping with a sort of resigned desperation through a book entitled Magick of the Darke and the Dangerous. His eyes were dulling by the day with lack of sleep, and Ed knew he wasn't much better. Any time they weren't researching, they were offering comfort and optimism they wished they meant, helping Ron with his left hand, occasionally grabbing a quick meal from the kitchen…

And, Ed knew, Pride was only a part of their worries. They still had to figure out how to get home (and hope there was a home to return to); failing that, they had both privately agreed to help defeat that bastard Voldemort. While not nearly as terrifying as Pride, he was quite a threat in his own right, and it might simply provoke him if they destroyed Pride first…

Ed had never understood the politics of war, had only ever had to fight things that followed no rules in their slaughter, and had no idea how to handle this. Dumbledore and the other adults had assured them not to worry about Voldemort, that they would deal with things their own world created, but Ed felt as if they would be abandoning them if they left the job undone.

But that was in the future, and there were things that needed to be dealt with first. So they continued to read, coming across nothing of value in the vast collection. Just as Ed was reaching for more of Flamel's notes, a sleepy voice cut through the library—

"Ed? Al? Are you guys in here?"

He grunted in response, and Sirius soon appeared around a bookcase, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms and wiping his exhausted eyes. His gaze roamed over the stacks of parchment and the books flung everywhere before finally landing incredulously on their faces. "Have you been in here all night?"

Ed only raised an eyebrow in response, picking up the notes. He felt like they were close, _so close,_ to the solution they required. He wanted—needed—to return home to a snarky Fuhrer Mustang, a furious, tearful Winry…a country rebuilding itself from the ground up, but a country that was very much _alive._

But they couldn't do that until Pride was gone for good. He couldn't possibly leave fifty million people to die because of his own _selfishness. _They had never discussed it, but Ed knew Al felt the same way; they would not even _try_ to get back home until Britain was safe once more.

"You can't stay up all night! The books will be there in the morning!" Sirius' expression was a cross of incredulity and horror as he pulled a book out of Al's grasp. "If you lose sleep, you're not going to be any more helpful! I don't know what you two are _thinking_—"

This attitude struck Ed as odd. Sirius was a wonderful father for Harry, yes, but he had never shown such paternal concern for Ed and Al. He had never minded it—it wasn't as if he _wanted_ to be coddled—but this seemed more like something Molly would do.

Then he saw them…the dark shadows etched under Sirius' eyes.

"You haven't been sleeping either," he accused, stopping Sirius in his tracks and causing Al to turn and inspect the man as well.

"What's wrong?" Al asked in a much gentler tone when Sirius didn't seem about to reply. "Have you just not been able to sleep, or…?"

"The kids get nightmares," he said after a moment, putting a book away with a bit more force than necessary. It wasn't in anger, but Ed couldn't tell…"Harry especially. Almost every night…he's getting more dreams about Voldemort. _Being _Voldemort. And they match up to our spies' reports."

"Are they—connected, somehow?" Ed guessed, trying to think of some reason for the occurrence. He could see why Sirius was losing sleep over it; to hear that your son in all but blood was seeing visions of your worst enemy…

But this was far outside the realm of what he knew. Even with the vast knowledge provided by the Truth and by their reading, it was such complex magic… He couldn't even begin to _guess_ at the inner workings of the mind, let alone with a rare magical anomaly involved.

Sirius shook his head to Ed's question, though, still very pale. "Dumbledore has him starting Occlumency lessons with Snape tonight, to try and block Voldemort out of his mind. But…"

"…What else is wrong?" Al asked, his voice heavy with worry. He left his chair cautiously to stand in front of Sirius. "That's not all, is it?"

"Tonight—his dream—it was Voldemort talking to Pride." He shivered, and something unreadable flashed through his eyes. "Harry couldn't see the—the _container_—but it was the only person it could have been…"

"And…?" Ed prompted when he did not seem about to continue. While surely terrifying, would that really cause—?

"They were talking about—about how to gather all the sacrifices again. They had another plan…but Harry woke up before he could hear what it was…"

His hands were shaking so badly that the parchment he held crumpled and ripped to pieces. Rage, terror, confusion…Sirius' face was a mess of emotion, nearly impossible to read, but it didn't matter.

"Sirius," Ed said, rising as well to stand next to him and Al. "I will _die_ before I let Pride do anything to Harry and the others. He will _not_ be able to create a Stone of your country, all right? That's what we're researching right now—there _has_ to be a way—"

Sirius cut him off with a jerky nod and a shaky, humorless laugh. "I'm just worried…Harry and Remus are the only family I have left…"

Ed nodded as well, putting a hand on his shoulder. He knew that feeling all too well. "C'mon, everyone should be up soon, right? Dumbledore'll be here—you can talk with him about it if you want…"

But they all knew, as they descended the stairs with tired eyes and heavy hearts, that it could not be resolved so easily.

* * *

The goodbyes in the kitchen were long and painful.

Fred, George, and Draco were not returning to Hogwarts, but the rest of the teenagers had their bags packed…though they clearly wished they didn't. Ginny held onto her mother for several minutes before the Portkey arrived, stifling sobs into Molly's chest.

She only released her grip to allow Ron an emotional embrace; his arm was as steady as he could make it, and he seemed to whisper words of encouragement to his mother before he finally released her.

Then, he made his way to Ed and Al, a smile barely appearing on his face. "Thanks, for—for everything," he said, waving his remaining hand vaguely. "We'll see you at Easter, right?"

Ed and Al both smiled as well, as genuinely as they could, and agreed. "We'll make sure there's some food left over for you…"

It was a throwback to the past summer, when their worries were few in comparison, when the three of them would regularly have eating contests that usually resulted in a draw. It was something so _normal_ that Ron's face relaxed a bit, a few of the ghosts left his exhausted eyes, and he turned to his brothers with one final wave.

Harry and Sirius were loath to leave each other's sides, though Ed knew that was to be expected. Sirius seemed to be doing his best to cheer up his terrified godson, though it was obvious he was just as scared. How could they possibly predict what would happen next?

Finally, the Portkey arrived: a trash can lid, large enough for several people to grasp at once. Slowly, the six children returning to Hogwarts grabbed hold of it, looking back at those left behind as if drinking in their appearances, as if they would never see them again.

As they all disappeared in a flash of color and light, Ed collapsed into a nearby chair, suddenly overcome with a sense of dread. They would see them in April. It was only three months away. Nothing could possibly happen to them at Hogwarts…

So why did he feel like he was sending them to their deaths?

* * *

Hermione had never felt so alone.

Even with Harry and Ron—and, often, Neville, Ginny, and Luna—at her side, she did not feel the sense of security Hogwarts had always offered. The school had lost some of its vibrancy, some of its _life_ after that horrifying experience back in December…

_(She didn't think she would ever forget the sound of Ginny's screams as Romilda was dropped to her death.)_

Classes continued on as normal the next day. Snape was the temporary Headmaster to appease Pride (who knew how long _that_ would last…), but he had also started Defense lessons again, teaching them himself.

Somehow, even his sneer, his negative attitude seemed muted.

An old man named Horace Slughorn had been called in as temporary Potions Master and Slytherin Head. He definitely knew what he was doing, was a much kinder professor than Snape had ever been…but it wasn't long before his jovial attitude was drained of life as well. Hermione wasn't sure if it was the state of the country that did it, or if it was the listlessness of the entire student body…

If they didn't win this war soon, she realized, there would be nothing left for Pride to conquer.

.

.

The DA was as active as ever and growing by the day; several of the older Slytherins had even joined. With the attempt on Malfoy's life, it seemed, came the revelation that _no one is safe._

Even if several had called her "Mudblood" in the past, had scorned and hated her for who she was, Hermione turned down no one. Harry and Ron did not argue.

The lessons were becoming more intense, more _desperate_ as the days turned into weeks. The entire school—_most of Wizarding Britain, _really—had been disillusioned the night that _monster _had attacked. They would all die if they did nothing to defend their country…and they knew it.

January passed in a blur. The first DA meeting in February saw most of the student body meeting in the enormous Room of Requirement, learning from various professors how they might be able to survive the war. Even Snape was there, teaching several older students some nasty-looking curses…

_Look how far we've fallen._

But then, if they didn't learn such things, would they be able to harm Pride at all? They couldn't just sit back and make the Elrics do all the work, praying they succeeded…

Ron walked up to her then, wand held easily in his left hand. She had no idea when or how he had learned to use his non-dominant hand…though he had disappeared often over break, and the Elrics had—perhaps a bit too strongly—denied knowledge of his whereabouts.

He obviously didn't want anyone else to know about it, though…so she never brought it up.

"This…do you think it'll be enough?" Ron asked quietly, gesturing vaguely around to all the students. "I mean, hitting a board in here is one thing. Hitting Pride…"

She had no response for him. She had never seen Pride in action, had never had to fight him…_Ron_ was the one who had already lost so much…

"There's not much else we _can_ do," she offered quietly in reply. "We can't just leave it up to the Order—we have to fight…"

He nodded his silent agreement, and they stood in each other's quiet company for the rest of class. At some point, Ron put his arm around her shoulders…whether it was to comfort her or to comfort himself, she did not know. She only leaned into his embrace (he should have two arms—_Pride needs to pay for everything he's done_), lost to her own thoughts.

Barely two months ago, the atmosphere in this room had been so different. Everyone was focused, yes, and terrified for what the future held, but somehow, the war had seemed so_ distant._

But now…everyone was nearly obsessed with this single thing. Homework for irrelevant classes—Astronomy, Divination—was ignored in favor of DA meetings and whatever sleep their imaginations and memories would allow them to get. Even the Hufflepuffs, the only house left untouched by Pride, looked exhausted, anxious, always on guard for another attack.

Even the Chamber of Secrets had not caused such terror amongst the students, and somehow, Hermione almost wished for that time again. She had been Petrified, had nearly died…but the terror had been contained to within Hogwarts. When they retreated home, they were safe…

If this war did not end—soon—she doubted any of them would be sane enough to do any sort of fighting. Their world was falling apart…

She was only sixteen…

She had never wanted her mother's warm embrace more.

* * *

Grimmauld Place, somehow, was quieter than it had ever been.

Molly, Fred, and George had all left for their home, and the older brothers had long since needed to return to work. Ed, Al, Sirius, and Draco were the only ones left in the house, and while Remus visited on occasion…

The silence was horrible, stifling.

And Ed knew it was his fault.

He threw himself into his research, neglecting everything else to search for something he knew wasn't there. They had scoured every last relevant book in the library, had pored over every possible translation of Flamel's work…but no one knew the answer. After all, what sane man would give up—_willingly destroy_—a perfect source of immortality?

Sirius often helped out, but it was uncommon for Draco to set foot into the library. On one such rare occasion, the three of them had taken a short respite from centuries-old notes, gladly accepting sandwiches from Draco—courtesy of Kreacher—as he appeared in the library. They had found nothing that day, but that was not surprising…no matter how depressing or hopeless it sounded.

They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes, each enjoying his meal. Ed couldn't remember the last time he had taken a break for food; it may have been Monday morning. But it was Tuesday night…and he was famished.

"So, guys…" Sirius said suddenly, obviously trying to inject some semblance of cheer into his tone. _He always says he's responsible for our sanity…ha…_ "You never told me about your world. What kind of alternate universe creates a bastard like Pride, anyway?"

The attempt at humor, while weak, was so Sirius-like that Ed had to crack a small smile. "Well, that's kind of a long story…"

"Not like we have anything else to do…" Draco gestured vaguely around them, raising an eyebrow. "You people are crazier than _Granger…_and that's saying something…"

His smile was weak and did not reach his eyes; it was clear the boy was getting no more sleep than the rest of them. He had been spending every night in his room…all alone…

Ed reminded himself to offer him a couch in the library that night. There, at least, the shadows were less threatening, the nightmares less real.

"I suppose," Al was saying in reply, his smile a bit more believable but just as forced. "You know our world studies alchemy—there's no magic at all…"

The two of them shared tales of Amestris, of their homeland…but they made sure to only tell parts. There were stories of their travels in the military, yes, but nothing of _why_ they joined.

They also did not mention the fact that Al had not had his body. That seemed precious, almost _sacred_ to Ed… He wasn't sure why—people he trusted much less back home knew the whole story—but…

"Wait a second," Sirius said after Al finished telling them about Youswell—one of their more lighthearted adventures. "I still don't get—_why _did you even join the military in the first place? It's great that you went around and helped all those people, but—I mean—you were just kids!"

Pause. Ed glanced at Al, who hesitated before shrugging a bit. _What is there left to lose?_

And yet…Ed couldn't shake the feeling—no matter how irrational—that terrible things would happen if people in _this_ world learned of the true power of alchemy—of the Taboo—of the Gate. No one from this world knew of what they had done, and Ed knew it didn't make sense, but somehow…it was _theirs._

No matter how much he wished it wasn't.

So he decided on a half-truth, avoiding Al's eyes as he said, "The military was being controlled by this real bastard of a Homunculus. He was looking for a certain…_type_ of alchemist for the State Alchemist program. And since I was one of those…both of us were, actually…they recruited me into the program."

"What kind of alchemist?" Sirius asked curiously, squinting at Ed as if expecting it to be some sort of physical difference. "I mean, you guys are really good, but…"

"Ones that can transmute without drawing an array," Al said, clapping gently and making a small figurine out of the table to prove his point. "It's very rare…and he needed five of us for the Stone transmutation. He just used the State Alchemist program to keep candidates all in one place."

Al finally caught his eye, sending him a questioning glance before turning back to Sirius and Draco. Ed knew he would have to explain himself later, but…

"Who is 'he'?" Draco asked, eyes wide. "Is it Pride?"

Ed laughed. "It was the Homunculus who _created_ Pride. He single-handedly destroyed a country centuries ago to gain all their souls, and then he founded Amestris to do the same thing…and he created seven more Homunculi to help him. Pride's the most powerful of them, but his 'Father' is even stronger."

"Did he—you said he was planning on turning your country into a Philosopher's Stone as well?" Sirius asked, his eyes going wide. Ed merely nodded in response. He knew it was a logical conversation to have, helpful, even, if Sirius or Draco had any fresh ideas…but it still dredged up painful memories.

"So—so what happened? Did you beat him?" Draco's face was pale; he obviously understood the implications of such a monster. Here, they were dealing with Pride, a terrifying beast straight from childhood nightmares…to think that there was something even more powerful threatening millions of lives…

But Draco's question was like a punch in the gut to Ed. It was what he had been trying to forget, at least for a time, until Pride was taken care of. But with it out in the open…

_Will there even be a home for us to go to?_

"We were fighting him, but it wasn't going well," he said quietly. Both wizards' eyes snapped to him, horror slowly filling their gazes. "Our—our old man was able to reverse the transmutation and set loose everyone's souls, but he could have always just gone around killing people…he was too strong…"

Speaking of the Homunculus in the past tense seemed to ease his mind, if only a bit. It meant nothing—the others probably didn't even notice—but if he was right, then that meant all had not been lost.

"So—did you win?" Draco's eyes were wider still, staring at the both of them. It was clear that he was hoping for a happy ending—hoping that if something _stronger _than Pride had been defeated…

But this story didn't have a happy ending; it didn't have much of an ending at all. Ed could only shake his head as Al continued—"We—we don't know…we wound up here in the middle of the battle…"

"_You don't know,_" Sirius repeated, his face losing even more color. "All the people you told us about—Mustang and Winry and everyone—they could be—"

He cut himself off, truly realizing the gravity of the situation. All traces of a joking father figure were gone; all that was left was pure, unbridled horror. "You could get back to find everyone gone…"

Ed had never heard it said aloud; it had never been so concrete. He wanted so badly to rage, to assure them all that it would turn out all right, because Teacher and Greed and Hohenheim knew what they were doing. They'd never, _never_ let the Homunculus win.

But he was so powerful…

He could only nod in response to Sirius' and Draco's horror-stricken faces, eyes downcast. He tried desperately to keep the tears—of terror, of frustration, of pain—at bay, with only some success.

There was nothing they could do about home…

They had to focus on saving Britain.

But thinking of an Amestris devoid of any life still hurt…

* * *

He didn't want it to be true, but he thought he was getting used to living with only one arm.

His writing had greatly improved; while Harry and Hermione had offered to write his homework for him, he always refused. Months ago, he would have jumped at the thought of Hermione doing his homework—and the teachers not objecting—but…

It was something of a personal challenge to him now. Ed had convinced him to keep going, had offered comfort in his own strange way…and, for whatever reason, _it had worked._ Maybe it was to keep his mind off of the terrible war he could never truly forget. Maybe it was to show Pride and You-Know-Who that he wasn't ready to be ignored just yet.

Whatever the reason, he was _not_ giving up so easily. His spellwork was impeccable, just as good as it had been with his right arm; he had seen several professors beaming as he continued in class just as always. Dozing through History, half-assing his way through other, lesser classes… The only ones he really paid any attention to were Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense. Really, what did the rest of his classes matter when they were fighting a _war_?

...

But beneath that bravado, beneath the superficial optimism and the smiles for those around him, Ron was _scared._

He thought he had been frightened before—when he had sacrificed himself in that chess game, when Ginny had been taken to the Chamber of Secrets, when Sirius had pulled him to the Shrieking Shack… But even the night he had nearly died by Pride's hands had not been so terrifying, so _endless._ Then, he had been running on adrenaline, had not cared what happened to him _as long as Harry and Neville were safe._

(That hadn't changed, he supposed…he would go to Hell and back before he let that monster lay a hand on his friends.)

But now…this was just a perpetual state of uncertainty. They never knew when or how the enemy would strike again, and it was driving him mad. He thought he understood, now, what Dumbledore meant when he said Pride was a master at psychological warfare…if this lasted much longer, he didn't think there would be anything left for them to fight for.

So he did the only thing he could—train, get better, prepare for an attack—no matter how futile his efforts might be. He held his friends close, sent his mum a letter through Professor McGonagall every week, tried to stay strong for those around him…even when he was one step from a breakdown.

But he would never give up. He was a Gryffindor, and a Weasley besides, and judgment needed to be handed down to the monster who had ripped his life apart.

Pride would pay for everything he had done…would be brought down before more innocents were hurt.

He would make sure of it.

* * *

Harry did his best not to sleep anymore.

It wasn't that he didn't get tired; on the contrary, it was nearly impossible for him to keep his eyes open in class. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Mr. Weasley's horrified face as the snake—_as he_—sank his fangs into skin again…and again…and again…

More than once, he had woken up screaming.

He had not been able to tell Ron that he had watched his father die, and telling any of the other Weasleys was out of the question. Hermione seemed to understand; she never brought it up, but he still could not forgive himself.

_This is my fault._

If he had been quicker on the uptake, had not been so confused the moment he woke up, maybe they could have gotten to McGonagall before Pride blocked off the door. (He was one of the reasons Pride attacked in the first place. _Everything is my fault._)

And then, he had _forgotten_ about his vision, even when everything was over, when Dumbledore and the Elrics had assembled all five "sacrifices" and explained the situation. Ed and Al had assured them that they didn't need to worry about it, that the Order would keep them safe, that they wouldn't be in any danger…

But it didn't sit right with Harry that two teenagers, two boys his own age, were their last and strongest defense against total annihilation. It wasn't at all that he wanted a share in their glory, or that he envied them for their brilliance and their induction into the Order…

He just didn't think they should have to do it alone. That was far too much for any teenager to handle…even if the Elrics were far from normal.

So he continued to train, learning more each week from the DA as the professors gradually joined them. As the tension became palpable in the air, as Pride slowly drove the country to madness, Harry continued on. It was what he had always done, and it was what he would continue to do.

Even when he saw Ginny and Hermione crying together in a corner of the library, even as he watched Ron struggle every morning to get dressed, he knew he had to stay strong, to never give up. If he did not join the resistance, if he stood by and watched the war progress…it would be an insult to Romilda's memory, to Mr. Weasley's memory, to everyone else who had fallen victim to this war.

But he had to wait. It would be suicide, he knew, to charge blindly into the lair of the beast that had so easily paralyzed the school. No matter how much he hated Pride, no matter how much he despised Voldemort and everything the two of them stood for, he knew he had to wait for an opportunity. The way Pride had attacked their dorm…he had not been able to see, had no idea what was going on. But then Ron was _screaming,_ and there was so much blood, and he could do nothing…he was utterly useless when it counted. Ron had nearly died…and it had been Harry's fault.

He would not make that mistake again.

He would help fight; he would help bring Pride and Voldemort down if it killed him… Pride had too many debts to pay to the Weasleys, to Hogwarts, to the _country_…and Harry wouldn't rest until they were paid back in full.

And, heroes or not, geniuses or not, Edward and Alphonse were only human. They should not have to defend an entire country on their own.

* * *

It was yet another overcast day in London, only made worse by the constant presence of the Dementors across the country. Ed knew very well what they were and what their effects were—he still cringed at the memory of their last encounter—but…

Despite the powerful wards on the house, despite his will born of desperation and hardheadedness, he realized he was starting to lose hope.

He did not dare say anything to Sirius or Draco; they were counting on him and Al—no matter how much they denied it—to come up with a solution, to save their country from a fate worse than death. And, of course, he couldn't tell Al. Al had always been the stronger one; Al had always been smarter; Al would worry, would fret over Ed, even when he didn't deserve it.

So, of course, no one could possibly know. He would continue to trudge along, looking for information that did not exist, hoping that some sort of miracle would get them out of this labyrinth of despair.

(He wasn't expecting much.)

It was mid-February now, and nearly nothing had changed. People were still being killed, but not at the rate they had been before. Pride's plan was nearly complete…which meant they were nearly out of time. And they had no idea where to start…

"Brother."

The two of them were alone in their room after a rare night of sleep, and Al looked decidedly worried. "Yeah?" he said, stretching as nonchalantly as he could and hoping Al hadn't caught on. He had always known Ed incredibly well—better than he knew himself, sometimes—and Ed was sure his little brother had picked up on his lackluster attitude over the past several days.

"You know we're going to pull through this, right?" There—he had hit the nail on the head, and both of them knew it. Ed could not stop the wince that followed those words; Al's brow only creased more as he stepped closer to Ed's bed. "We'll figure something out—we always do. You've been _scary_ these last few days…I don't think Sirius or Draco have noticed anything, but…"

"Do we have _any_ idea of what to do?" he blurted out, perhaps a bit harsher than he had intended. Al was unfazed by this, though; he only sat down next to Ed, turning to face him. He was silent, unmoving, waiting for more. His eyes begged for answers, for Ed to talk to him, so they could work this out like they had done in the past…

Ed sighed resignedly; he didn't want to talk about it, but he wasn't about to brush off the little brother he'd lived for all these years. "I can't see a way out of this," he admitted to the moldy carpet, refusing to meet Al's eyes. He knew, intellectually, that Al would not hate him for this—they had been through so much worse—but it still… "Fifty million people are counting on us to save their lives. But we don't know how…"

The next moment, he was engulfed in a hug, surrounded by Al's strong arms. The two of them were the same size, or very nearly so; Al's cropped hair tickled Ed's nose as he breathed. Slowly, he returned the embrace as Al told him—in that incredible, calming voice he had—that it would be all right. They would pull through this, because they were Elrics, and Elrics did _not_ give up.

And, somehow, when they broke the hug, Al smiling with tired yet encouraging eyes, Ed thought it might be all right…

Because Al was here, and even when Ed failed, his little brother was sure to succeed.

"Let's get some breakfast before we go down to the library, yeah? I'll cook," Al offered, standing up and stretching. "Bacon and eggs sound good?"

"Always." Ed let the tiniest of smiles appear on his face, reaching up to tousle his brother's hair fondly as they headed for the door.

Before they could get there, however, it slammed open, showing a very pale Draco standing in the doorway. Ed could see him shaking from across the room…but the huge smile on his face threw everything off.

"What—?" he started, completely lost. Draco had seemed even worse off mentally than Ed had been; what had caused…?

"I had an idea, just now," he said breathlessly, grasping the doorframe for support as his entire body shook with excitement. The emotion—pure, unbridled joy—was so foreign that it looked almost demonic on the boy's face. "Flamel had a really strong Stone, right? What happened to it? Didn't Dumbledore destroy it four years ago?"

There was utter silence in the room for several moments while Ed and Al both digested this fact. That did sound vaguely familiar—a conversation with Harry months ago…and—

_Holy fuck, he's right._

Al made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeal, spinning to hug Ed enthusiastically. "That's right! Remember, Harry said so? It shouldn't matter if he _has_ a Stone or if he _is_ a Stone, the theory would be the same—"

Ed's face felt like it was splitting in half; his smile was so wide, so full of _elation_ that it hurt. But he was not perturbed; _this was it._ If Dumbledore remembered _how _Flamel's Stone had been destroyed, if he had some sort of circle like Marcoh had…

He gave a loud whoop as Al released him from the suffocating hug; both of them tore past Draco as they ran up to the third floor, toward Sirius' room. The door was locked, but that was not unusual; the man would have much rather stayed up late than gotten up early. But Ed wasted no time pounding on the door, hollering that he needed to get up because _they got it._

He was at the door in seconds, eyes wide, wand in hand, before apparently registering the enormous grins all three of them were wearing.

And then, Ed's words sunk in. He yelled indecipherably, embraced Al—the nearest of the three—before hastily conjuring a Patronus to Dumbledore.

"The kids got it. Get over here so we can kick some ass!"

The good mood was incredible, nearly unreal, as they all descended to the kitchen, barely waiting for Sirius to don a bathrobe. Draco filled them in with all he could remember from the Hogwarts rumor mill (which was, apparently, surprisingly accurate)…someone had seen Dumbledore with a small red stone; someone had seen bright flashes of light from the Headmaster's office that night; he himself had seen Dumbledore walking with a piece of parchment, an intricate circle inscribed on it…

It was such a simple solution; they had, for whatever reason, never considered such an idea. But Flamel was dead and gone, when surely, his Stone had still been quite powerful. Of _course_ it had to have been destroyed; why had they not thought of this before?

Dumbledore arrived in the kitchen at the same time as the rest of them, his blue eyes wide with hope. He was more alive than Ed had seen in _months;_ surely, such good news was infectious.

_We can do this._ Ed had been telling himself that for months…but now he finally believed it.

_We can win._

* * *

_I suppose this is not a bad idea…_

_Of course it isn't. You get your precious sacrifices, and I get exactly what I want._

_Use our new information to your advantage. Humans are easily manipulated; he will play right into our hands._

_Shall we do it tonight?_

_Tonight._

* * *

When Harry Potter woke up screaming from another nightmare, he could not remember why.


	21. We Are But Human

_Here we are at last—the final chapter~_

_For anyone interested, I have an alternate ending started! It's called Atonement, if any of you want to read it._

* * *

**XXI**  
**We Are But Human**

**.**

**.**

_This is the end._

_They are not prepared._

_._

_._

"Are you sure it would be the same theory? I never brought it up because I thought...Pride himself is a Philosopher's Stone—Nicholas only _had_ one..."

"Absolutely sure," Al said, nodding and accepting the parchment Dumbledore offered to him. Ed leaned over to see, trying to interpret the circle inscribed on it. The array seemed simple at first glance, but as he continued to study it, he realized how complex it really was. The strange letters around the outer edge, the foreign runes in every corner...

"You're going to have to explain what all of these mean," he said at last, looking up at Dumbledore. They would be able to figure it out on their own, given enough time, but he knew they couldn't take that chance. "These are magical runes, right? I've never seen them before..."

Dumbledore nodded. "They were the runes I knew best, and since Nicholas was reluctant to help...but they are relatively easy to understand once you know what they mean. It shouldn't take very long..."

"Let's get started, then," Ed said decisively, gesturing to the parchment still held tight in Al's grasp. "If we both learn it, we'll have a better chance of getting him..."

But that was the problem, he realized suddenly as they all made their way to the table. _Getting to Pride._ As soon as he caught wind of their plan, realized they were trying to get him within arm's reach...

Surely, he knew what happened to Envy in the north. Nothing escaped his _Father's_ notice, and Pride was never far behind. Pride would protect his container—where, surely, the Stone resided—with everything he had if he realized what they were doing.

Even with this near-miraculous answer, they were leaving far too much to chance.

The runes were easy enough to memorize once Dumbledore explained their meaning: an inverted phoenix, the sun crushing a dragon...all the reverse of the original runes used in the Stone circle from Amestris.

And yet...the runes the Homunculus had used had symbolized the act of swallowing God. Had Dumbledore simply assumed that they would be satisfactory to destroy a Stone, or had Flamel also tried to deify himself...?

There was no time to mull over that, though. In addition to the semi-familiar runes, there were several Ed would have never thought to put in. The words around the edge—in some language called _Latin_—needed to be fully understood before they could activate the circle, and while Dumbledore was patiently translating it for them...it would take a while.

Draco's and Sirius' faces were not shining in elation as they had been. They still looked hopeful, yes, and more alive than they had in weeks, but reality had finally crashed into them as well. To pull this off, one of them would have to make it past Pride's shadows, past near-invisible attacks and impenetrable defenses, to get his hands on the small container. And then he would have to hold onto him long enough to activate the circle...

And, if they failed the first time, Pride would make it nearly impossible to get close enough to try again.

They all knew it, yet...

It was hope—something they had not felt in what seemed like forever.

And were there any other options anymore?

* * *

Ron wasn't blind, no matter how oblivious he often seemed. And when he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast that morning, he noticed a decided shift in the mood at the staff table.

McGonagall and Snape, especially, seemed to be in much higher spirits. She seemed to be trying to hide a broad smile as she ate her eggs, and he had not sent one scathing glance in Harry's direction all morning.

Something had happened. Something good. Ron had no idea what it was, but the whole atmosphere in the Great Hall was somehow brighter... The despair and fear that had clogged their minds, had stopped their breath, was lifted, if only a bit. Somehow, even the twinges of pain that had long assaulted his shoulder were gone. McGonagall and Snape—usually so stoic—were barely keeping in shouts of joy. Surely, the rest of the school felt it as well...

As the day continued, as moods lifted and eyes brightened and hope bloomed, Ron finally felt something aside from the all-consuming grief, the perpetual terror, the insatiable rage. Whatever had happened, whatever had caused this shift in their small world...it was doing them good, repairing their minds and their hearts the tiniest bit.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

* * *

Ed could see the confusion on Sirius' and Draco's faces as their analysis of the circle wore on; however, for him, it was all starting to come together. The runes, the lines, the foreign words...he ignored his doubts and just immersed himself in the alchemy. This was something he knew; he had done it all his life; learning these runes was just like memorizing others back in Hohenheim's study. They were different, alien, but the sameness was comforting as he and Al discussed possible symbolisms, argued different ways of channeling the power, tried to decide on the quickest and most efficient method of activation.

Dumbledore looked on with a bemused smile; this was, apparently, far above what he knew of alchemy. It was advanced, _very_ advanced, but the two of them had performed other transmutations just as complicated.

(Visions of the grotesque form _that was not their mother_ were pushed to the back of his mind. They would not fail, not this time. More than their own selfish happiness rode on this transmutation, after all.)

He allowed his mind to speed through all the possibilities this circle offered, basking in the familiarity of it, and knew, somehow, that they would reach the solution.

_Their_ solution.

The solution to wake them all from this hellish nightmare.

He would do whatever it took.

* * *

Their last class of the day, Transfiguration, started off as any other. Ron did his best to stay awake and pay attention...

(The nightmares had kept him awake nearly every night. The shadows drew ever nearer; everyone he loved was trapped, was bleeding heavily and couldn't possibly escape, and he was powerless to save them. And then the shadows turned into hundreds of snakes and _struck._)

(Harry wasn't the only one who woke up screaming anymore.)

But it was daytime now; the shadows weren't quite as terrifying...he had dozed through Divination and History, so he needed to pay attention to McGonagall as she demonstrated how to turn a lizard into an eagle.

(Mundane, unimportant. But it was what the Ministry told her to teach. That night, she would show them how to transfigure the hardest carbon known to man, show them how to survive the war pounding on their front door.)

But even those poisonous thoughts were not as hateful, as _dangerous_ as they had been before. McGonagall was smiling, _genuinely smiling,_ and handed out house points for even the smallest things. When he accidentally gave his lizard talons, wings, and a beak, too preoccupied to focus on the anatomy of both species, she only patted his shoulder and patiently told him what he could do to improve.

Whatever had happened—was happening?—was something incredible, he quickly realized. To put Minerva McGonagall—who, before, had been the picture of worried, vigilant professor—into such a cheerful mood...

He turned to shake Harry awake, allowing the ghost of a smile to grow on his face. Maybe they'd get that bastard after all.

* * *

The day wore on into the afternoon before Ed and Al were satisfied they understood the circle well enough. There was no way to test their knowledge, no way to know for sure, but Dumbledore had used it only four years earlier...with devastating results.

And it was _alchemy_. Alchemy didn't change; it only expanded. It had stayed constant for _centuries_, and it was one of the few things they could count on in their uncertain lives.

(The only other thing Ed could truly trust at the moment was his brother. As he watched Al's eyes light up with long-absent hope as they finalized the minutiae of the circle, Ed knew he would never let him down.)

"Anyone want me to get dinner started?" Sirius asked, walking back into the kitchen. He and Draco had left hours ago; while they had not been any sort of bother (indeed, Ed had hardly noticed their presence at all), Draco had muttered something about them being too smart for their own good. Sirius had agreed, the smallest of smirks adorning his face. Now, the five of them were congregated again, staring around at each other with the first genuine smiles they had seen in weeks.

"I'm afraid I must decline," Dumbledore said, standing up. "I need to inform the others that you think this will work...and we must find a way to lure him within reach of that circle."

Ed nodded, standing up as well. "The sooner we beat that bastard, the better." He stuck out his hand suddenly, and Dumbledore shook it before smiling around at them all, Apparating away with a _crack._

Somehow, it seemed final, like an abrupt ending without any sort of conclusion. But to Ed, their newfound hope far outweighed that trepidation...

It was quickly pushed aside and forgotten.

* * *

Harry was not waking up.

Ron turned fully, worry creasing his brow as he shook his friend more harshly. In the past, when Harry didn't awaken, he was either in the midst of a nightmare or witnessing another vision... Neither of those was a good situation, especially in a class full of curious students.

"Harry," he muttered, causing Hermione to turn and McGonagall to step closer with a frown. "Mate, c'mon, we're in class..."

Harry's eyelids were twitching violently; his entire body was shaking as Ron continued to attempt to wake him. He had rarely been so agitated, even in the throes of a nightmare...Ron looked up at Hermione in desperation, but she looked just as terrified as he felt.

"_Rennervate," _McGonagall said from his left, her voice full of confusion and worry. Harry's eyes snapped open, but for a moment, they showed absolutely no recognition. He was staring at a point past them as he sat up, _far_ past them...whatever this terrible vision had been...

"Mister Potter, are you well?" McGonagall asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Most of the class was watching, now, as she stooped to be at his eye level. "Do you need—?"

All at once, Harry's eyes snapped to attention...but the terror on his face only grew as he met McGonagall's worried gaze. He shoved her hand away violently, not saying a word, and stood up, grabbing his wand. The door slammed shut behind him as he raced out of the room.

It all had happened so fast; Ron had barely seen his friend move. But the unadulterated horror on Harry's face had been impossible to miss. There was no time to wonder why; Ron knew he needed to find Harry and figure out what was wrong before it was too late.

(Too late for what? He had no idea.)

As one, he and Hermione stood up, grabbing their wands as well, and followed him out the door. McGonagall was calling for them, but they paid her no heed; surely, whatever Harry had just witnessed had been something beyond their wildest imaginings. They had to find him, find out what had happened—

They found him trying to break open McGonagall's office door, only down the hall. Heaving sobs wracked his body, and tears flowed freely down his cheeks as the door refused to open. Hermione reached him first; she grasped his arm desperately, trying to get him to turn. "Harry, please, what's going on?"

"I have to save him!" Harry did not stop his hysterical attempts to get into the office, and he did not turn to look at them as he continued—"They said—don't tell the Order—I have to—"

He slammed his shoulder into the door one final time; when it stood as strong as ever, he collapsed into a shaking heap on the floor. "Mate, what're you talking about?" Ron asked, his gut clenching in terror as he knelt down next to him. He put a hand out to try and steady his friend as he sobbed, but he was pushed away; Ron toppled sideways, overbalanced, and his still-sore right shoulder smashed into the stone floor.

His pained yelp seemed to snap Harry out of his stupor, but his eyes were filled with just as much pain and sorrow as he helped Ron up carefully. "I'm sorry—I'm such an arse—so _useless_—"

"Harry, please, calm down," Hermione pleaded, pulling them into a nearby niche as McGonagall came around the corner, looking very worried. Only when the clicking of her shoes had long faded did she dare speak again. "Just calm down, it'll be okay—"

"No, it _won't_ be okay, Hermione!" Harry said loudly. His eyes were flickering all around, only occasionally meeting either of their gazes. Whatever he had seen—"They—they've got Sirius! In that place I saw at my hearing, the Department of Mysteries! They'll kill him if I don't get over there!"

It took a moment for this horrible piece of news to sink in. "Pride and—and Voldemort?" Hermione finally asked, her voice scarcely more than a whisper. "Are you sure?"

"I saw it! Just now! Just like all the other times—"

"But—Harry—think about it a minute," she pleaded, though Ron could see her eyes filling with tears. "It's barely three o'clock—the Ministry's still full of people—how would they—?"

"Pride's _controlling_ the Ministry, though," Ron cut her off, a sick pit of realization forming in his stomach. "He'd just threaten them all into doing what he says, right?"

"But—wait! Please!" Hermione's voice cracked, and Harry turned to her with what looked like a great amount of effort. "What if this is what they _want?_ You're one of his sacrifices—what if he's just luring you there?"

"I'm only _one_ of them," Harry countered, looking up and down the hallway before heading for McGonagall's door again. "The way Al was talking, he needs all five of us. If I go and save Sirius and get myself caught, it won't matter, because—"

_"Harry!"_ Hermione sounded nearly hysterical, and Ron wasn't far behind. Had Pride, this war, _everything_ finally gotten to him? He was talking nonsense—sacrificing himself—"Please! We can figure something out! Talk to McGonagall, or Snape, or—"

"He said Sirius will die if I talk to anyone in the Order," Harry said, and his voice caught as he tried different spells to incinerate the door. "Look—I don't have a choice—I can't just—"

"Well, it's a good thing we're going with you, then, isn't it?"

Ron spun incredulously, and even Harry turned to face the speaker. Ginny stood there, flanked by Neville and Luna; a spark was in her eye that Ron had not seen in months. "We're not going to just sit around if that bastard's got Sirius…"

_"Wait a minute!"_ Hermione said, her voice rising in terror as she looked around at them. "You all have seen Pride—know what he's capable of—we can't just—"

"Sirius is a good person," Neville said quietly. "We can't just leave him to die. And Pride needs to pay…"

_For too many things._ His father, his arm, Romilda, Padma, everyone else who had suffered to fulfill Pride's sick dreams… He and Ginny had gone through Hell when their father was killed, and Ron would do anything to make sure Harry didn't live through that nightmare.

Because once it started, there was never any way to wake up.

"We're all going with you, then," he said decisively, his grip tightening on his wand. "How are we getting there?"

"No—wait!" Hermione sounded desperate and hysterical, so Ron turned to her reluctantly. It sounded calloused, but she was the only one who had not seen Pride in action. She did not know how truly terrifying that monster was, didn't know the pain Sirius must have been feeling at that very moment, the horror and fear and—

"That makes four of you, right? Four of his five sacrifices!" Hermione was saying, her voice reduced to scarcely more than a strangled whisper. "Ed and Al—they said—if he gets all five of you, the whole country is gone—"

"Well, it's not like Malfoy's going to show up, is it?" Harry asked loudly, returning to the office door. "Look, Hermione, he's the only family I have left. I can't just—if he dies—_I have to at least try!_"

Ron could clearly hear the desperation—bordering on hysteria—overwhelming his best friend's voice. Sirius was the closest thing Harry had to a father, especially after Ron's own father had died… Sirius would do anything for his godson, and Ron was sure Harry felt the same way.

That horribly lost expression, that tortured, terrified voice made up Ron's mind for him. Even if it was to the depths of Hell, even if it meant his own long and painful death, he would stand by Harry's side. He was a Gryffindor; he was a Weasley; but, above all, he was _Ron._ And to Ron, all that mattered at the moment was Harry.

He wasn't going to leave his best friend when he needed him the most.

Hermione, apparently, had come to the same conclusion; she squared her shoulders, looked into Harry's eyes with a determined expression, and asked, "How are we getting to the Ministry?"

* * *

Grimmauld Place was quiet, but it wasn't the suffocating silence they had lived under for months. They breathed easy, now; there was a certain lift to their gaits; the perpetual worry had finally been muted, replaced by something Draco could only call _hope._

They had all congregated in the living room, unwilling to leave each other's sides. Draco merely sat in one of the large armchairs, basking in the silence. Ed and Al were fast asleep, exhausted from their nonstop research; Sirius was staring off into space, though a small smile graced his features.

It truly was peaceful.

Those past two months—spent in the musty, desolate place Sirius and the Elrics called home—had shaken his life at its very foundation. It had come out, after Ed and Al left Hogwarts, that they were technically Muggles; Draco had, of course, viewed them with the contempt appropriate of his class. But then when all Hell was breaking loose, when he was sure he was going to die, they had come charging in, commanding professors decades older than them, pushing that monster out of the school and saving countless lives.

He couldn't quite find it in him to see them with anything more than respect and the slight, lingering fear instilled by his father. Lucius had come stumbling home from the raid on that café, covered in blood, with a gaping hole in his arm…

But when Draco heard the whole story—that they were sent to bring the Elrics to Pride, dead or alive—he didn't think he could blame Ed for the defensive measures he took.

(His mother's screams when his father arrived, however, still haunted his nightmares.)

But right now, Edward and Alphonse were none of those things. As Draco watched them sleep on the couch across the room, he was struck by how _normal,_ how _young_ they looked. Ed's head was lolling against the back of the couch, and one arm was wrapped protectively around his brother. Al's head was resting on Ed's shoulder, and his mouth was wide open as he snored softly. There was nothing of the determined, brilliant _heroes_ who were sure to save the entire country; the fear, the stress, _everything_ had been stripped away.

It was only then that Draco truly realized…they weren't any older than he was.

"They look so peaceful, don't they?" Sirius' quiet voice cut through the room. Draco jumped and turned; he had nearly forgotten the older man was there. While decidedly a Gryffindor and a long-time enemy of the Malfoy family…Sirius had been relatively nice to Draco. (He was sure Al had a say in this change of attitude.) At any other time, in any other situation, they would be at each other's throats, but…

They both hated Pride, were fighting for the same thing. A common goal like that, inevitably, created bonds much stronger than hatred ever could.

"Mm," he agreed, watching as Al's cat walked up to its owner and nudged his leg. Al stirred but did not awaken; eventually, the cat—really nothing more than a huge ball of fur, Ed had jokingly remarked—gave up and wandered over to Sirius. "You think they'll really be able to pull this off?"

It wasn't exactly that he was doubting them; he just wanted to hear it said aloud, made concrete, because he needed _something_ to hold onto. They had found a solution, yes, but was it enough to beat Pride?

(He so desperately wanted the answer to be yes. But the Slytherin, the Malfoy in him forced him to look at the situation realistically.)

(He needed this to be over, because he was sure he would go mad if it lasted much longer.)

"You're over-thinking everything again," Sirius said, laughing as he scratched the cat's ears. "'Course it'll work—"

The room was suddenly full of blinding blue light. Draco and Sirius jumped, and the cat yowled terribly; Ed and Al started awake, looking around the room with sleep-gummed eyes before they finally found the tabby Patronus in the middle of the room.

"Potter and his friends have left Hogwarts. We don't know when or how, but portraits who overheard their conversation say Pride and Voldemort lured him to the Department of Mysteries. Edward, Alphonse, get there as soon as you can. Draco and Sirius—_stay in the house."_

The Patronus dissipated, leaving behind an old, broken quill—a Portkey, most likely. The Elrics were already moving, all traces of grogginess gone. Ed was swearing fluently under his breath in what sounded like several different languages, and Al was as pale as a ghost. As they neared the quill, not sparing a glance for either Sirius or Draco, the older man stood up quickly—

"You can't expect me to _stay here_! That's my godson risking his life—I can't just—"

Ed gave him a long, level look before nodding and gesturing for him to come forward. Draco was sure there would have been an argument if they had any time…but if he knew anything about Sirius, it was that he was _stubborn._ Arguing now would just waste precious time…

He also stepped forward, having half a mind to join the fight. If Pride and the Dark Lord were there, surely they would have brought Death Eaters. If there was even the slightest chance that his father was there—maybe they could get away, get his mother, flee the country—

"_You_ stay here," Ed said quickly, putting a hand out to stop his progress. "We don't know who else he got over there—if Neville and Ginny and Luna are there as well—"

He hesitated before nodding, albeit a bit reluctantly. He knew he was selfish—it was practically required for Slytherin house—but he wasn't sure he was selfish enough to risk the life of every person in the country.

(Even if the majority of the population was Muggle…if this war had taught him anything, it was that humans were humans, and that was what really mattered.)

(He was sure he would have to have a long chat about that with his parents when he got home.)

But he was getting ahead of himself—_who knows if I'll be going home at all_—and the other three were preparing to go save the world. So he did all he could think of—he offered a small smile and a wave, saying "good luck" in the most optimistic voice he could manage.

They all smiled back, obviously trying to comfort him, to assure him everything would turn out for the best…then they disappeared with a _crack._

Grimmauld Place was quiet, and this time, Draco found it nearly impossible to breathe.

* * *

"Harry, I don't like this…"

Hermione's nervous voice echoed back to Ron, who was walking at the back of the group with his sister. He had to admit…there was definitely something going on here. When they had finally gotten themselves to a fireplace connected to the Floo network, they had arrived in a completely deserted Ministry of Magic. It had only been half past three…there should have been hundreds of workers…

That, more than anything, seemed to decide for them all that Harry's vision had been devastatingly accurate.

Once they had found their way downstairs to the Department of Mysteries, their path was eerily clear. The first door they opened—one in twelve spinning around the room—was the correct one, leading through a strange space with all sorts of clocks. Ultimately, they arrived in a huge room full of small glass spheres.

The rows stretched farther than Ron could see in the dim candlelight, and they were stacked at least a hundred shelves high. They slowly made their way toward row ninety-seven, wands raised, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. This was more than enough light for Pride to materialize—he could be anywhere—

Hermione choked back a sob as they reached the correct row. Ron hurried to look down it, ready for nearly anything…but there was absolutely nothing there.

They all stood in silence while Harry desperately checked the adjacent rows… Surely, Sirius had to be here; the Ministry was deserted when it should have been bustling with life; Harry's visions had been horribly accurate ever since they started—

Suddenly, a label on one of the orbs right in front of Ron caught his eye. He approached it cautiously, raising his wand to read it better…

_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D_

_Dark Lord_

_and (?) Harry Potter_

There was something about this that sent chills up his spine. Harry—his best friend in the world—was grouped together with their worst enemy in the Department of Mysteries?

A quick look at the nearby orbs showed no other names he recognized. It was strange…too strange…

"Harry," he said quietly, not taking his eyes off the strange sphere. "You might want to look at this…"

Harry returned, looking very worried, glancing around as if expecting a beaten, bloody Sirius to appear out of nowhere. That was their main goal, certainly, but this was far too strange to just ignore. He gestured to the orb wordlessly, and Harry sent him an incredulous look before stepping closer.

He seemed to stare at his name, adjacent to You-Know-Who's, in some sort of trance before he slowly reached to pick it up. "I don't think you should do that," Hermione said with a sort of hushed desperation. "We're here to find Sirius, Harry, we don't know what these things are—"

"It's got my name on it," he insisted, and his fingers curled around the sphere, lifting it from its pedestal. They all stared at it for a moment, expecting it to do something, _anything,_ but it only reflected the flickering candlelight, glowing eerily and casting shadows all around.

_Shadows._

Ron's brain suddenly kicked back into gear, snapping out of the strange dream-like state. He thought he heard something move behind him and spun around, ready for Pride, ready for You-Know-Who, ready for—

A dozen Death Eaters were emerging from the aisle, their faces masked but their gaits decidedly triumphant. "Very good, Potter. Now, give me the prophecy, and nobody gets hurt."

.

.

They were running; they were running faster than Ron had ever run in his life; they had smashed the countless shelves of prophecies, but he didn't know if it would be enough to get away—

He had a tight grip on Ginny's hand, and he felt someone holding fast to his right shirt sleeve. Hermione was nearby, distracting Death Eaters, collapsing more shelves—still, hopefully, keeping up with the rest of them.

Reality had hit Ron as soon as Malfoy started talking to Harry—they had been tricked, played like the children they were. He had not been able to see through the lies and convince Harry…it was so obvious now—

They reached an intersection, but Death Eaters were coming from both sides; they could only race forward, creating as much chaos as possible, _trying to stay alive…_

For the second time in three months, Ron was sure he was going to die.

A door appeared in front of them, and they dashed through it, not caring where it led. Hermione was the last one through; she slammed it shut, putting nearly a dozen spells on it that would—hopefully—keep the Death Eaters away…for the time being.

The room was quiet. _Too_ quiet, Ron realized as he circled in place, looking for threats. The other rooms had always had something going on; the time room had that strange bird and the endless ticking of the clocks; even the room with the prophecies had nearly _hummed_, full of the pure _magic_ concentrated in those small glass spheres.

Suddenly, something straight ahead of him caught his eye, and he stepped forward cautiously. The others (_thank Merlin we're all together_) followed him, their wands raised, ready for action. The room was dim, but not terribly so; as they moved closer, Ron could tell the figure was human, shorter than any of them… Dark hair, an old-fashioned vest with a white shirt…

Every instinct was screaming at him to _run_, but Ron could only stare, entranced. The alternative was a dozen grown, _insane_ men outside; he thought he would take his chances with the _child_ in here who didn't even seem aware of their presence.

Hermione seemed to realize first…she let out a low moan from next to him, shoving Harry back, standing in front of him with her wand outstretched. Ron wanted to ask her what she was doing, what was wrong, but then the boy turned around, revealing terrifyingly purple eyes and a wide, predatory smile.

Ron pushed his sister behind him, baring his teeth and raising his wand even before his mind registered what was happening. _This is Pride._ They had seen the shadows, _fought_ the shadows, but this, certainly, was his container…

It was just as terrifying as the Order had described.

"So good of you to come," the monster said, his metallic voice echoing around the empty room. "If you four would come with me…" Shadows wrapped around Ron and Hermione, flinging them to opposite walls while more reached for the other four. They were yelling hysterically for Ron, for Hermione, screaming obscenities at Pride, but he paid them no heed. As Ron picked himself up slowly, his vision unfocused and head bloody, he saw Pride leaving the room, not sparing a glance for Ron or Hermione.

Then the door slammed shut, and the room was quiet.

"Hermione?" Ron called as loudly as he could manage, standing up slowly despite the tipping floor and the overwhelming nausea. "—ione, you okay?"

No answer. He made his way over to her (_if she's dead it's my fault_), holding onto walls and the scarce furniture when he could…he needed to go save Harry and the others—_if he didn't the entire country was doomed—_but first, he had to make sure Hermione was alive.

He finally reached her side, dropping to his knees and groping for her wrist. After a few seconds of unbridled terror, he felt a pulse—faint, slow, but _there._

If he didn't get her to a Healer soon, though…

All at once, the vertigo hit him, and he toppled sideways, vomiting on the floor and Hermione's robes. The room was spinning—he could barely sit up—but he had to—

There was a distant, echoing laugh, and then there was only silence.

* * *

The three of them tore through the Department of Mysteries, desperately searching for Pride, for Harry, for a Death Eater, for _anyone._ But the entire complex was completely deserted; not a soul was in sight.

Dumbledore had said Voldemort was after a prophecy being held there, but when they finally found their way to the correct room, it was completely trashed. A huge swath of the room was demolished, glass shards lay everywhere…the path was so complete, so widespread, that, for a moment, Ed could only stare. Then he swore, staring to run toward the wreckage. If anyone was trapped in there—but, surely, Pride would have already retrieved any of the sacrifices—

"Over here!" Sirius called, heading for a door that was hanging off its hinges. "They might have gone through here—"

With one last glance toward the massive pile of glass and wood, Ed changed direction and headed toward Sirius. Any sort of clue at all—

Sirius was already inside the room, casting his lit wand around in search of any hints of what had happened. Then, with a strangled cry, Al dashed to the left wall, dropping to his knees beside a prone figure. "Hermione!"

Ed and Sirius rushed over; she lay there, her hair bloody, covered in vomit. "Is she alive?" Sirius asked, his face pale, dropping down next to Al. Ed was about to join them when something on the ground caught his eye. There was text written on the stone floor in a horrible, deep red—

_Help her—I've gone after Ginny and the others._

It was short, to the point, and nearly illegible, but Ed easily recognized it as Ron's handwriting. Either he was hurt as well or he had used Hermione's blood to write the note…they had to assume the former…

_And he's going after Pride on his own._

He cursed under his breath, standing up quickly. "Sirius, Apparate her to Molly or—or someone—head injuries are too dangerous—"

He hesitated before nodding. "I'll meet you two in the spinning room, all right?" And then he was gone, Hermione in tow.

"Ron's gone to save the others," he said as explanation to Al as they left. "We have to assume the rest of them are his sacrifices, and he just left Ron and Hermione…"

Al unconsciously picked up the pace, his jaw set. "Even if he doesn't have all five of them here, he'll probably just take them until he can get Draco and anyone else…"

Ed nodded his agreement as they arrived back in the circular room. "Right. Where are Tonks and Mad-Eye and the others, do you think?" They had all arrived at roughly the same time, but they had split up to cover more ground. Evidently, they were still searching one of the other rooms…or they were locked in battle with Pride.

Once the room stopped spinning, Ed was ready to start just opening doors until they found the others, leaving a marker for Sirius; however, Al nudged him, pointing to one of the doors to their left. There was an X carved into the wood—faint, but visible. "You think that's where they are?"

"Might as well check," Ed shrugged. "What do you think's taking Sirius—?"

The man in question came running through one of the other doors, his face white and wand at the ready. "Where are the others? Hermione should be okay, Molly was calling Madame Pomfrey when I left…"

They waited impatiently for the room to stop spinning. Thankfully, the correct door was still marked, and they raced inside, ready for anything, ready to take out Pride once and for all…

The room was large, set up like a coliseum, with a raised dais in the middle. Pride was halfway up the risers on the opposite side of the room, easily blocking the attacks from the various Order members. Four figures were suspended in the air around him… It was difficult to see his face at such a distance, but Ed was sure he wore a triumphant smirk.

The monster looked up as Sirius slammed the door, and his grin grew wider. "Edward and Alphonse…so kind of you to come…"

"Let them go, you bastard," Ed snarled, taking the steps two at a time to reach the bottom of the room. He thought he could hear a sort of…muttering…from the archway in the center of the dais, and gave it a wide berth as he continued, "You won't win, so just—"

"Oh, I won't? Unless I'm mistaken, I am dangerously close to obliterating this ridiculous country…I have four here, and it will not be impossible to take the Malfoy boy…"

"Do you really think we'll let you just take Draco?" Al asked harshly. He held no weapon, but one would be useless; the stone surrounding them, surely, did not contain enough carbon to be of any use. The only effective weapon they had was Ed's arm…and their transmutation circle. If they could coordinate their attacks…Al could find an opening…he had always been faster…

Pride laughed, pulling his bound captives closer. "Do you really think you have a choice? You cannot hide him forever. The boy's parents mean everything to him—if I threaten them…"

Al snarled outright this time, baring his teeth up at Pride. "You'll be dead before you hurt anyone else—we can promise you that."

The sneer turned even more sinister. "You are a fool. If you expect me to give them up to fight you…unless you would rather I use them as shields…"

Ed saw Harry's eyes shift from the group of Order members to a point somewhere behind them, but he could not chance turning around. Unless it was Voldemort himself, they likely didn't have to worry—

"Let them go, you bastard!"

Ed heard something tear, and then the room was engulfed in total blackness. _Fred and George's Powder._ He never thought he'd be so happy to hear Ron's voice as he yelled for them to get Ginny and the others out—the large-radius Powder didn't last nearly as long—

Several things happened at once; Ed heard Pride scream in rage and scramble for something—a wand?—and the adults sprung forward, toward where the children had been suspended, preparing to Apparate them away. Something smashed near where Harry had been held, and a new voice entered the fray—ethereal and far away—but Ed could not make out what she was saying. He could only wait, holding a defensive stance in anticipation for the moment the Powder wore off...

As light slowly returned to the room, he could see Pride standing—alone—on the risers. The Order members were Apparating back in, holding their wands defensively toward him.

There was a glint of something nearing _madness_ in Pride's eyes. "You have successfully made me angry, boy." His voice was low and dangerous as he looked over their heads, across the room toward Ron. "You just won't die, will you?"

And before Ron could reply, before anyone could react, shadows were shooting across the room with blinding speed. Ed yelled a warning, but Ron was already diving away, down into a row of seats, crawling desperately to safety.

"Get him out of here!" he yelled to no one in particular, charging Pride with his blade at the ready. Nobody had the chance to, though; Pride was just as quick about attacking the half a dozen Order members as he was Ron.

Ed saw Mad Eye take a nasty slice through his shoulder—barely missing his neck—but it wasn't life-threatening; he and Al continued up the steps, blocking and dodging shadows, doing their best to reach Pride before he caused any more damage.

"Do you really want to get back to your father this badly?" Ed yelled over the chaos of the battle—Death Eaters, it seemed, had found them, engaging the other Order members. He forced himself to tune out their battles; if he didn't focus entirely on Pride—

"He is my father—of course I will do anything for him. You would have done the same for your mother, would you not? That is why you—"

"We wouldn't have killed fifty million people, no!" Ed roared back, noticing Al circling out of the corner of his eye. Trying to get closer…he needed to keep him talking…"We loved her, but we would never—"

"But would you kill fifty million insects to see her alive? Just one more time?" There was a mocking tone to his voice, now. He seemed unaware of Al slowly making his way closer, but they couldn't know for sure… "You humans are only ants to us. A power source. It is no different—"

Ed only snarled in response—_distract, distract, distract. _"At least Mom _loved_ us! You're just a pawn to that bastard! I bet—if you get home with all these people's souls—he'll just take them and leave you to die!"

"But he is my _father._ I live to serve him." A shadow made it past Ed's defenses—a high-pitched yell—Tonks had been hit. Ed couldn't chance a look back, however—"We know nothing of human emotion. We have no need of it. We only—"

The tide of battle had moved them—Ed was level with Pride, now, while Al was lurking a few steps below. He was still several feet away, but if he took a flying leap—

It was as if Al had read his mind; he slammed his hands together, the sound echoing around the large room, and propelled himself upward, getting a tight grip on Pride's head. Ed took several steps back as the power crackled around his brother and the Homunculus, lighting the room with a terrifying blue glow.

Pride was screaming, trying to attack him with shadows in a last-ditch effort to survive. Al suffered several gashes but did not loosen his grip on either side of Pride's head—the power was only growing—if he could just hold on for a few more seconds—

Ed's world _exploded._

He was sent flying several feet back, hitting his head hard on a bench. He sat up quickly, though, looking wildly around for Pride. If it hadn't worked, if he was still alive, there would be _hell_ to pay—

But he saw nothing. He could not see Al, either, but he trusted the Order to tend to him if need be—as much as his chest ached at the thought, he had to make sure Pride was gone—

The spot where Pride and Al had stood was scorched; a small humanoid figure lay at the exact center of the explosion, perhaps two inches long and curled up like a newborn. Ed thought its lips were moving, but it was impossible to tell what it was saying over the battle below…

Most of the fights seemed to have ceased, in fact; Dumbledore had arrived at some point, rounding up the remaining Death Eaters. Tonks, bleeding heavily from her leg, was helping Ron up—Sirius was the only one left fighting—but Ed could not let his guard down just yet.

_Where was Al?_

Panic rose in his chest as he scanned the room again; he saw no shock of blond hair, moving or otherwise—

Remus was looking up at him with worry and panic in his eyes. "Where's Al?" he asked loudly, running down the steps to speak to him easier. "Did you see where he fell? Is he all right?" Pride—whatever he had been reduced to—was the least of his worries at the moment. His little brother was nowhere in sight—he didn't know if he was okay—

The older man put a hand on his arm, the pain in his eyes only increasing. Ed's stomach plummeted. Al—_he couldn't be—_

"The—the force of the explosion, it threw him across the room," he said carefully. "He—"

"Is he all right? Did he hit his head? Let me see him—we can get him to Madame Pomfrey, he'll be fine—" He was rambling, he knew, but it kept him from thinking of the terrifying possibilities. Al was _fine_—Remus was overreacting—

There was a loud, barking laugh, and then a bright flash of red light. Ed turned quickly to see Sirius flying through the air—directly toward the archway in the center of the room—

But there was no _thud_ as he hit the ground on the other side.

Remus turned as well, spinning wildly to try and find his friend. But the woman was cackling; Sirius was not there—

Suddenly, he understood.

_"What the fuck is that thing?"_ His voice cracked, but he paid it no heed. That—archway—swallowed people whole—Sirius had disappeared through it—Al was not there—

Before he could take another step toward that _thing,_ before he could do anything but scream, Remus grabbed him around the middle, holding him back with badly shaking arms. "They're—they're not here. They're gone…"

"No! They aren't! Al! ALPHONSE!"

But then he saw a flash of white as the cloth fluttered, heard the too-familiar childlike laughter, and he realized.

"LET ME GO!" he roared, fighting against the strong arms holding him back. "That's the Gate—they're—I have to—"

"Ed, listen to me—"

"GET OFF ME!"

"It isn't your _Gate,_ it's just a death veil, there's nothing you can do—"

"Edward." Dumbledore's soft voice came from behind him, and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "There is truly nothing you can do. I am very sorry—"

_"Let me go, or I'll make you."_ His voice was reduced to a low growl, but he knew he sounded no less threatening. "You shouldn't give a shit about what happens to me—Al beat Pride—there's nothing else for me to do here—"

"Edward, we will discuss this back at Headquarters. Right now, you need to calm down. There is nothing you can do for your brother—"

"_Shut up!"_ With one final yank of his automail, he flung himself from Remus' grip, making a mad dash for this _death veil._ If he wasn't too late—_just like so many months ago—_maybe he could strike a deal, get at least Al and Sirius out alive—

People were screaming his name, begging in terrified, hysterical tones for him to stop, but he ignored them. His little brother was at the Gate—Sirius had no idea what he was up against—there wasn't a choice anymore.

He dived through the old, fluttering cloth and did not look back.

* * *

_What…the hell?_

Sirius picked himself up slowly, holding his head, and tried to figure out where he was. He had been fighting Bellatrix; of that much he was certain. The last thing he had seen was Remus turning as he fell through that archway, terror in his eyes—

_Am I dead? I must be dead._ There was no other explanation. That veil—the Department of Mysteries had always been bizarre—he wouldn't be surprised if it had killed him. But, if he was dead, what was he supposed to do now?

"Is anyone there?" he tried. He wasn't sure if there was something wrong with his eyes, but all he could see was white. He wasn't expecting an answer—was trying to figure out what to do—_how to get back to Remus and Harry_—when a familiar voice called back—

"Sirius? Is that you?"

"_Al?_" Of all the people to meet in the afterlife—if Al was dead…Ed was gonna be _pissed._

"Can you see anything? Besides the white?" he yelled back. His voice sounded incredibly far away…which made sense, Sirius supposed. He couldn't see even a hint of the boy. He spun slowly again, wondering if there was anything else he was missing, and was suddenly face-to-face with a huge set of stone doors.

He swore loudly, eyes widening in terror as he took in the sight…and the strangely humanoid figure that appeared in front of it. It was exactly his height, exactly his build…but it was made of the whiteness and wearing a sickening grin.

He swore again, because, quite frankly, he had never seen anything so terrifying. (He wasn't sure there was much else he could do, anyway.)

"Don't say anything! Don't move!" Al called, his voice going slightly higher. "I'll figure something out—just don't—_Brother?"_

Sirius exhaled heavily but decided it was wise to heed Al's warning. So Ed had jumped through the veil after them, huh…? Unless he had some way of getting them all out of here…

"Take me," Ed was saying loudly, but Sirius didn't dare avert his attention from the…_thing_ in front of him. "Send Al and Sirius back to England, that's equivalent, right?"

"Not quite." The voice came from all around him, and he jumped at the sudden noise. It sounded like it was several people talking at the same time, and simply the sound of it sent chills up his spine.

Then, realization hit him all at once, and he exhaled again, looking up toward the nonexistent sky, trying desperately to stay calm and silent. This was their _Gate,_ one of the only things that truly seemed to scare them. And _equivalent…_it sounded a lot like their alchemy. An eye for an eye, things like that, he mused to himself. But as long as they knew what they were doing—

It sure sounded like they didn't, though…Ed's tone was becoming increasingly desperate. From the sound of it, he was trying to find some way to get at least Sirius and Al back to England…or Amestris… _somewhere_ that wasn't dead. But again and again, he was denied—_it wasn't equivalent._

Disregarding Al's warning and throwing caution to the winds, he addressed the figure still standing in front of him—"Who are you, exactly? What the hell is going on?"

Its grin grew wider. "I am the one you call the world, the universe, God, truth, all, one…but most importantly…I am _you._"

"That's not creepy at all," Sirius muttered, raising an eyebrow. "Can you tell me what's going on? Or is that some godly thing we mortals aren't allowed to know?" He was fighting against the panic rising in his throat, falling back on his crutch—snarky comebacks. But if this really was "God," was there anything—?

"Well, you're never returning to your precious _Britain,_" it said, cheerful—_sadistic—_grin wide as ever, "but you're not dead—yet—so—"

"I can be used as equivalency."

Sick realization was forming in his gut. When Ed and Al had talked about a _cost_, a _price_ they had to pay at the Gate, they had never meant money. They had meant themselves—body parts—

Suddenly, Ed's missing limbs made far too much sense. Sirius wanted to be sick.

And yet, something else nagged at his brain as well. Falling through that veil had permanently separated him from home…he would never see any of them again…even if he travelled to Amestris, learned alchemy, somehow found the proper equivalence, he _couldn't—?_

"Very good, Mister Wizard. Lucky for you, though, the alchemists are trying to get you out alive."

"But what could get all of us out?" It didn't make sense—he only knew the very basics of their _equivalent exchange—_but, surely, even several limbs would not be enough to get them all out alive, to Amestris—?

"You're not bad at this," the figure said, tilting its head for a moment. "If there was any way for you to survive, you would not be a bad alchemist…"

A plan was forming in Sirius' mind, even as it was talking. It was insane—they would hate him for it—but if he really—"So I'll never see Remus or Harry or anyone else ever again," he said slowly, his gut clenching at the thought. His best friend all alone…he and Harry would be…

The grin grew wider. "You are correct."

Before Sirius could reply, Ed's loud voice carried from so far away—"Magic bypasses equivalency, right? Sirius is a wizard—can you—just—take his magic out of him? Send him with us to Amestris as a Muggle, at least—_I won't let anyone else die—"_

"That would be acceptable," the omnipresent voice said, sounding almost thoughtful, "if taking the magic from a wizard were possible."

Ed let out a low moan, but all at once, Sirius knew what he had to do. If he could never return, would be stranded in a place he did not belong, the least he could do was help these two boys find their way home.

"Sirius, don't even _think_ about it!" Al's voice, panicked and terrified, echoed through the whiteness…but Sirius knew it was the only possible answer. His chest physically ached at the thought of leaving Harry and Remus and everyone else—_forever_—but there was no way to see them again. He would do anything, absolutely _anything…_but he wasn't sure his _anything_ would be good enough against this all-powerful being.

His jaw set, his mind made up, he turned to face this "god" head-on. Even if he was utterly terrified, was still fervently hoping that this was all a terrible nightmare, he would not meet his fate acting like a coward.

"Take me—send Ed and Al back home to Amestris."

It rang loud and clear through the whiteness, and he could hear the boys' desperate refusals as they screamed at him to take it back…but the Truth's grin only grew wider.

"You are willing to sacrifice yourself for two alchemists who brought chaos to your world?"

"They deserve to live there more than I do. And—you have Ed's limbs, right? Give those back to him, too. Is that _equivalent?_"

God grinned wickedly over at him, and Sirius immediately knew the answer.

"Yes."

With that single word, it seemed, their fates were sealed. The great stone doors before him opened; long, black arms extended from the darkness within, heading straight for him. Edward's and Alphonse's screams rang in his ears, but the deal was made; there was no turning back now. He did not struggle, even as chills ran up his spine, as the hands drew back toward the infinite blackness…

He saw God's wide grin as the doors began to close…

And then there was nothing.

_**.**_

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* * *

_**is this the end?**_

* * *

_**.**_

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_**.**_

The aftermath, Ron decides, is always the worst.

He did not see Al fall through the veil—was shielding himself from the unbelievable amount of power coming from his attack (if he didn't respect the boy before, he definitely does now)—but he watches Sirius fall, watches helplessly as he disappears forever through that strange archway.

(Dead, they say. He doesn't want to believe it.)

But Ed is the worst. Ron sees the comprehension as it forms in his eyes, watches as he realizes that his little brother is dead and gone. The desperation in his voice as he screams, the terror in his gaze, is perhaps the most heart-wrenching thing Ron has ever seen. Alphonse was his older brother's _life…_and now he is gone.

Before anyone can react, before anyone can stop him, he is gone as well, diving through the veil without hesitation, never to return. Ron does not know if it was grief or madness that drove him to do it, but either way…

As they send the remaining Death Eaters to holding cells, as they try to pick up the shattered remnants of the battle, Ron feels strangely empty. It is over, so why has the grief not vanished, the anger not dissipated into nothing? Sirius, Ed, Al—they are gone, _forever,_ just like his father, but surely Pride's death should ease the pain, if only a little…

Instead, it has only increased tenfold, eating him from the inside out, destroying him until there is nothing left. Three of the people in his life are _gone._ The scars from his father's death, while still there (they will never be gone—of that he is sure), had started to heal, had not been so blindingly painful. But Al, and Sirius, and Ed…they ripped those open again, and this time…

Sirius has always been one of the most important people in Harry's life, he knows. A link to his parents, security, and a father figure all at once…for him to be torn from Harry so abruptly and completely…neither of them deserve that. They've both already been through so much…

And the Elrics. The two of them were so different—so _wildly_ different—that it was hard to imagine that they would be so close…but they were inseparable. And he's not sure he can blame them, either, if that _accident_ from years ago was as bad as they said…

When he looked at Ed, he saw a protective older brother, someone willing to sacrifice _anything_ for his family. Ron thought he had been an all right brother; he thought he and Ginny had gotten along well…but looking at Edward Elric, he realizes that he could be doing so much more.

(Sacrificing an arm when he's already bleeding out from a missing leg…all to save his little brother. Ron only _wishes_ he were that strong.)

And Alphonse. He's been through Hell—is only fifteen years old—but he's still the kindest person Ron has ever met. Whatever hardened Edward, whatever created those ghosts in his gaze, it seems to have spared the younger brother. (Or else, he's even better at hiding it.) To have lost both his parents so young, to nearly die himself, to be thrown into a foreigners' war and be expected to win it…_How_ did he stay so kind? Ron will never know.

Those boys…they deserve to live. No matter what their pasts may have held, no matter what guilt they carried… To sacrifice themselves for a country that rejected them, for people who didn't appreciate them… They were good people, better people than Ron has ever known, but he hasn't realized it until now…when they are already gone.

He never got to thank any of those who have been ripped from his life—thank them for helping him, helping Harry, helping the entire country…and that will haunt him forever.

And then he realizes.

Harry still does not know that Sirius is gone…

And he is the one who must tell him.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Harry has been sitting by Hermione's bed in the Hospital Wing ever since Tonks Apparated him and Ginny to safety. He is injured—his hand still bleeds freely from the broken shards of the prophecy—but he will not leave her side until she wakes up, until the danger is past…

It is all his fault, and he knows it.

Ginny, Neville, and Luna also escaped, returned to Hogwarts, but Ron is still at the Ministry, fighting…if he is hurt, is _killed_…

He does not know how long he sits there in silence, begging Hermione to wake up… But eventually, the hospital doors open, and Ron walks in.

Harry wants to cry, to shout for joy, because his best friend is _alive._ His hair is still matted with blood, but he has not lost any more limbs, is walking under his own power, and Madame Pomfrey should be able to fix his head easily…

Nobody else was hurt because of his own idiocy.

But then he sees the way his hand shakes, the way his face pales and his eyes _refuse to look at Harry,_ and his stomach plummets again. _Ron_ is all right, yes, but—?

His friend waves off Madame Pomfrey, sitting down next to Harry and looking him in the eye with a great deal of effort. "Are you all right?" Harry asks at length. Was he hurt more than they thought when Pride threw him aside? Harry's mind spins with possibilities, each worse than the last, but Ron shakes his head slowly.

"I'm—_I'm_ okay…"

"But…?" Harry's stomach is roiling as his brain switches gears, begging him to say everyone is fine. Maybe they've got a few cuts, but nobody's _dead—_

"Al—Al was able to destroy Pride, but the explosion sent him through that veil," Ron says slowly, his eyes flickering away again. "And—well—Professor Lupin called it a death veil…and Ed freaked out and went in after him…"

Harry can only stare for a moment; his mind refuses to process this. They passed the veil while Pride was walking across the room—he thought he heard voices—but he had not had time to dwell on it. But—"They're—_gone?"_

He doesn't want it to be true—two boys his own age—two boys he respected greatly—two boys who gave everything to protect a country that wasn't even theirs—two boys _who only ever wanted to go home—_

They're dead.

Gone.

Forever…

And it's his fault.

He is ready to stand up, to scream his guilt and anguish to the heavens (_I've killed two innocent people it's my fault they're dead)_, but Ron takes a deep breath and continues—"There's more…"

"What else could have happened?" he asks hoarsely, tears filling his eyes. He cannot think of much worse—Pride is gone (but the victory seems hollow in the wake of such a tragedy); what else—?

"Sirius was—was dueling Bellatrix Lestrange…"

_Oh God no._

"He's—he's okay, right…?"

_(Please no let it be anyone but Sirius he can't be dead that's impossible)_

He feels a trembling hand on his arm, looks into Ron's eyes (they're filling with tears—_this can't be happening_), and he _knows._

He jumps to his feet, rushes to leave the room, leave his life, leave everything behind…

The war is over, but his world is crumbling to ashes all around him.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Hermione wakes up two days after the battle with a splitting headache, and it takes her a moment to get her bearings. The last thing she remembers is seeing Pride in the Department of Mysteries, trying to protect Harry and the others—

_But she failed._ Her eyes snap open, trying to figure out what is going on. Has he succeeded? Is the _entire country_ going to die because of her own incompetence—?

She realizes, rather belatedly, that she is lying on a bed. All she can see is white for a moment—_the Hospital Wing. Of course. _This does not ease her mind, though; the Order very well could have arrived too late to save Harry and the others. If they are all gone, pawns in Pride's plan—

She turns her head to look down the long room and sees Madame Pomfrey emerging from her office. "Miss Granger!" She apparently sees Hermione moving, for she speeds toward her, a smile growing on her face. "We were starting to worry that you wouldn't—"

"What about the others? Are they all right?"

The nurse seems to falter for a moment at her interruption; Hermione's heart plummets. "Pride's got them? Oh God—oh God oh God…"

"That's not it," she assures her quickly. "Alphonse managed to destroy Pride…it's only…he, Edward, and Sirius Black…"

"What? Are they hurt?" She glances down the row of beds, but she only sees a small blonde girl halfway down the room. _But they're fugitives—maybe she has to treat them in secret…_

"They're…they're gone, Miss Granger. The fight was in a room containing a death veil…"

Her heart stops for a moment; her breath is caught in her throat. _No. She's wrong._ "Are—are you sure?"

"I am sorry…once someone falls through, there is never any way to bring them back."

She cannot think; she can barely nod to the nurse as she steps closer carefully, beginning to inspect the top of her head. This can't be happening…

After all Ed and Al went through for a country that wasn't even theirs… Ed, with his stubborn determination, and Al with his patient optimism…

They'll never get to go home to the people they loved so much…

_And Sirius._ She can't even imagine what Harry is going through; even if he could be childlike and immature at times, Sirius was an excellent father figure for Harry…the only one he could trust with _anything…_

He's gone…

And if she had been stronger, hadn't been knocked out by Pride's attack, maybe she could have helped fight. Maybe they'd still be alive…

The guilt is eating away at her insides like acid, threatening to destroy her. If only she had been better…

When Harry and Ron come in after the bell rings, she can only fling her arms around them and sob.

They all wanted Pride gone…but this price is far too high for any of them to pay.

.

.

(Draco Malfoy gives her Al's cat before he flees the country with his parents; they all wear identical, haunted expressions, and she doesn't think she can blame them for running.)

(She takes the cat in, just as she promised so many months ago… But he only ever wanders her dormitory, Gryffindor Tower, the castle, looking lost. It's as if he's looking for Al, for Ed, for people he will never find.)

(She can only hug him and Crookshanks tight, sob into their soft fur, and wish the war hadn't ended this way.)

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Albus Dumbledore contemplates the small, humanoid figure that Pride has been reduced to, and wonders whether the end of his reign of tyranny is worth so many innocent lives.

There is still a war raging—Pride is not there to threaten the Ministry into silence, and Voldemort is still alive and far too powerful—but his mind constantly wanders. Mostly, he thinks of the three people who never belonged in this world yet had such a great impact on it… He reminds himself that he should be continuing the Order's work, planning the war against Voldemort, finding and destroying whatever horcruxes he has made…

But he keeps remembering the desperate determination in Edward's eyes as he threw himself through the death veil.

The Unspeakables have never been able to truly explain it, what it is, how it works, where it leads…all they know is that whoever goes through it never comes back.

And in the span of five minutes, three important members of the Order—three of his _friends_—had met their end because of it.

He never told the Elrics what he truly saw, all those months ago when he attempted to access Edward's memories. He never did it because he suspected them to be a threat; the moment he heard what language they spoke, he knew they were just as confused as everyone else.

No, the reason he wanted—_needed_—to see into their memories was to understand. Edward was clearly a teenager—both of them were—but the pain in his eyes…the way he was far too protective of his younger brother…he needed to know _why,_ to ensure that the boy was all right. He has been a professor for more than a century, yet he had never seen a child look so _aged_ as that boy did.

And what he saw in Edward's mind…he saw _everything._

He saw their mother's death, their attempted resurrection, the Gate. He saw the empty shell Alphonse was confined to, saw the desperate insanity in Ed's eyes as he swore to make it right…

He saw the military, the Homunculi, the Promised Day. He watched as Alphonse's link to life was destroyed, was forced to watch as Edward tried to sacrifice himself just to bring his little brother back.

And even if the lifespan Legilimency that he used gives only a rough outline, has no time for details…he saw enough. Alphonse, staying so perfectly, painfully sane in such a hellish situation… Edward, selfless and protective and willing to sacrifice absolutely anything to make his brother's life worth living…

No, he never told them any of this, never told them what he saw and how much he knows…because they would hate him for it. Both of them…both boys were so private, so desperate to keep their past a secret, as if telling others would ruin them. But Albus knows better. He could see it in both of their faces, the way the guilt and anxiety ate away at them, because _it's my fault if the Homunculus wins_ and _I'd rather be back in the armor if it means keeping everyone safe_ and _I just want to go home…_

And Albus knows, he _knows,_ that it would have made things better for those boys if they had only _told someone,_ had confided their worries in him or Sirius or Miss Granger or _anyone._ But that wasn't how they operated; they refused to bring others into their own mess; they would fix the problem they caused, make things right again, and then they would disappear as if they had never existed.

But that was an impossible goal; no one could ever forget those two boys, with their genius and their selflessness and their genuine desire to help…they have made an impression on everyone they've met—a _lasting_ impression—and Albus is sure no one will ever forget them.

_(But now they are gone, and there is nothing anyone can do to bring them back.)_

He knows very little of the Gate the Elrics often spoke of, knows nothing of the death veil hidden within the depths of the Ministry… But as he thinks on it, watches the scene again and again in the Pensieve…he realizes that something in Edward's eyes as he struggled against Remus' grip makes Albus want to believe. Maybe Edward was right; maybe the veil is a portal to the Gate, to another world they have never heard of.

Maybe he and Alphonse and Sirius are still alive.

But he can't focus on such things for long, no matter how much he wishes to. They are gone, lost to this world…and even if the three of them have found their way to Amestris, whole and happy…to the people of _this_ world, it does not matter. They are only trying to stay alive… There is a war to plan, a school to defend…and shards of innocence to collect and preserve as much as possible.

Harry is due in his office in five minutes, and Albus knows that he cannot keep things from him anymore…no matter how much he wishes the boy could stay ignorant of these horrors. (Edward and Alphonse had to grow up far too fast, and Albus would do anything to spare his students from the horrors those boys faced.) But Harry's innocence is gone…if Albus does not treat him like an adult, it would only be an insult to everything he has been through, to everything he has become.

But before Harry arrives…there is one matter that must be dealt with. He considers the homunculus on his desk; its quiet voice—"_Mama…Mama…_"— fills his office. It sounds harmless, innocent, like any other child—_like his students and the Elrics should be._

He has been duped, used, lied to by immortals in the past…he knows this now. Who knows how the boy will grow up…if he does at all?

There is a pause, and then a flash of green light fills the room.

Fawkes lets out a long, mournful note, and then the office is silent.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

_**or is it only the beginning?**_

* * *

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The office is hectic, just as it always has been. There is always paperwork to file, superiors to obey, missions to complete…

But for the last seven months, it hasn't been the same.

The Promised Day has been won, if only barely, and the country has set about rebuilding itself from the ground up. Bradley is dead, the Homunculus is destroyed, Pride…

Has disappeared, he's always told himself.

If he says that bastard is dead, that means _they_ are as well…

After the war was won, after the homunculi were—gone—and the wounded were tended to, he had started a massive underground search for the Elrics. He knows the chances are slim—when they had not returned from the Gate, they all knew the truth—but for that bastard god to not even give back their lifeless bodies…if only for some closure…

He rubs his eyes vigorously and makes his way toward the office door. He opens it (forcing down the nostalgia growing in his throat. The number of times Edward smashed it off its hinges…) and greets his team, planning to grab a cup of coffee from down the hall. Then, he supposes, he'll have to accept the mountains of paperwork from Riza…

Before he can make it even halfway across the outer office, however, there is a loud and crisp knock on the door. "Brigadier General Mustang has visitors, sir. I can send them away if now is not a good time…"

"No, send them in," Roy says loudly, raising a mental eyebrow. He isn't expecting any visitors…unless some of the higher-ups need a word with him…

(Is his mind playing cruel tricks on him, or can he hear a too-familiar voice muttering on the other side of the door?)

A sergeant opens the door, looking rather baffled as he salutes the officers. Roy sets him at ease quickly, gesturing for him to explain. "He—well, they say they're the Elric brothers, sir. The one has a watch, but…"

Roy's blood runs cold. _It can't be…_ "Well, I'll see for myself. Let them in."

He hears no clanking of armor plates; in fact, he doesn't even hear the uneven steps of someone with an automail leg. He is ready to write them off as fakes, throw them out of the building, stew about the bastards who have the gall to try and trick them…and then two boys hobble into the office.

One does look remarkably like Edward Elric—so much so, in fact, that for a moment he can only stare. But his exposed right hand is decidedly made of (very bony) flesh and blood, and his footsteps…

"What, no short jokes for me, _General_ Bastard?"

That voice—Roy hears several chairs crash to the floor behind him—he can't tear his eyes from the boy _who looks and sounds exactly like Edward._ He stands in the doorway, bold as brass, supporting the other boy and at the same time greatly favoring his left leg.

_"Boss?"_ Breda seems to find his voice first, but it's hoarse with disbelief. Roy still can't find it in him to speak, only staring at the boy, trying to find _some_ imperfection. Aside from the automail, however, he is the spitting image of the Edward Elric who had so often stormed into this very office.

It can't be…

But it is.

The sergeant has left, or else Roy doesn't even see him as he _runs_ to Ed. He opens his mouth to say something—_anything—_but his throat has run dry, his mind produces nothing, so he only claps a hand on the boy's shoulder and smiles.

Ed smirks, and the other boy laughs quietly. "You really thought you'd get rid of us that easily?"

Before he can say anything in response, before he can express just how _happy_ he is to see Edward alive, something _off_ about the situation stops his tongue again. Alphonse's blood seal had been destroyed; they had retrieved the remnants of his armor after the battle, and there was no way the boy could have possibly survived. But why would Fullmetal be so happy, if—?

"Boss, who's your friend?" Havoc sounds worried as he steps closer, looking the other boy up and down. "We should get you two to a hospital—that's a hell of a lot of blood…"

Roy wrenches his gaze from Fullmetal, turning to inspect the other boy for the first time. Something about him seems familiar, but the great amount of blood _is_ alarming…if they didn't get him out soon—

Both of them laugh this time—hearty belly laughs, the likes of which Roy has never heard from Edward. "You don't recognize him? C'mon, we don't look _that_ different…"

The identical, face-splitting grins, the same hair color, very nearly the same height and eyes…

_Good lord._

_"Alphonse?"_ Riza is suddenly at Roy's side, staring at the two of them with shock and joy flooding her face. It's incredible—_too _incredible—but it all makes a wonderful amount of sense as their grins grow impossibly wider.

The boy—_Alphonse—_gives them a shaky bow and says, "It's great to see you all again."

His voice is the same—_just_ the same—and for a moment, Roy sees the ghost of a towering suit of armor where Alphonse stands. He shakes that away quickly, though, as Riza leads them to vacated chairs, telling Fuery quickly to call an ambulance.

The boys seem totally unbothered by their injuries, however; they are talking at high speeds to each other, almost seeming to relish speaking the language. If he listens intently, Roy thinks he can make out bits and pieces of their conversation—

"If I ever see him again, I'll _kill_ him—"

"That's a little harsh, Brother…but he shouldn't have done that, we could have figured something out—"

"Bastard wasn't supposed to _die!_ That's just—"

There is pain in their eyes and voices, Roy can tell, but they seem to shove it deep down as the rest of his team interrupts. They want to talk to them, ask them far too many questions, simply bask in the presence of the two friends they thought they had lost forever…

The pain of that man's death—whoever he was—is still clear in their eyes, in the way Ed grasps his brother's hand tight in his own, and Roy knows they must tell him everything later. But now, there is only time for joy, for celebration as they all continue talking about everything and nothing, welcoming them home with the exuberance only his team can possess.

He is moving even before he realizes it; he is standing in front of the boys now, and, for a moment, they can only stare at each other. For Roy, this is far too surreal. He's still waiting to wake up from this wonderful dream, to learn that they've not found their way back, whole and well…but then he realizes.

This is real. This is real, and by some miracle, the Elric brothers are sitting in front of him in the flesh.

So he throws caution to the winds and embraces both boys in a hug. There is a time for explanations; there is a time for phone calls and others' joyful reunions…but now is not it. Now, they just need to relish and find happiness in the fact that they have returned after far too long.

And instead of rebuking him, instead of pushing him away like Roy is expecting, Ed and Al both return the embrace. In that moment, nothing could be more perfect.

"Welcome home."

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End file.
